Ugly
by jonadark
Summary: How can the famous trio, separated by time, cope when tragedy makes them a duo? Love is beautifully ugly. HGDM Post Hogwarts AU
1. The Life and Death of Hermione Granger

Ugly

**The Life and Death of Hermione Granger**

**Part One**

* * *

_I'll die when you die. We will die together. That way, there is no escape_.

* * *

"Harry!" Ginny's arms wrapped around him tightly. "It's been a long time."

Harry nodded, pushing away. "A few months. How have you been?"

Now it was Ginny who stepped back.

"What? Do I have something in my teeth? I swear, I really should stay away from the poppy seed muffins."

Ginny didn't laugh. Instead, she closed the space between them again, her hand reaching for him. "Don't you know?"

Harry scratched his head. "Uh…I did just get back to the country." He could never tell with Ginny. News from her could be anything. And it was rarely of interest him. "Did I miss something?"

"You could say that again."

* * *

Hermione Granger woke alone. She made her bed and went downstairs for coffee. Her long hair pulled back from her face, her eyes sleepy.

Catching her reflection in the mirror, Hermione looked away. She set the water to boil, removed a mug from the cabinet, set out a spoon.

The same routine—always. Since she'd left Hogwarts. Since she fractured.

Back upstairs she continued to move through the motions. Smoothing away wrinkles in the bed sheets and setting out her work clothes. These too she smoothed. No wrinkles, nothing as imperfect as herself.

She couldn't jump over obstacles. Hadn't been able to for a long time. So she smoothed them away.

Her shower was lukewarm, like her life. There, but not to par. Whatever she'd imagined as a youth...well, even she couldn't remember what that had been.

She dressed. Plain, boring, simple, dull—all the words that could be used to describe her. Failure, too, was a word she could use. And did use. She was a failure.

Pale hands twisted her hair tightly, securing it in place. Hermione picked up her ID and went to the stairs. She needed her briefcase, she could see it on the table by the door. Her coat was there as well, and in the left pocket, the keys to her office.

But she never made it.

Lukewarm. Disappointing. Dull. That may have been her life.

But there was only one word to describe her death.

Cold.

Hermione Granger was no more.

* * *

The tears had dried by the time Ginny finished, shaking her head. "Ron found her. She'd missed work."

Harry found a chair and sat with a thud. "You're serious?"

"Would I joke about something like that? Like this?"

"But..." Harry's dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. "No," He looked up at Ginny. "No. I just talked to her. She was fine."

"Harry…" Ginny took a deep breath. "We don't always see what is going on. We can't know what people think and feel. She..."

"I just can't believe this. Not Hermione."

Ginny gave him a half smile. The sort of smile that said she was only just tolerating him. "I'm glad you're back Harry. We…we have to go through Hermione's things. The landlord…he wants everything out."

"What? She just died!"

"Shh." Ginny put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Ron and I talked to him. He was going to just throw it out, her stuff. He's given us a few days to go through it."

Harry shook his head, standing suddenly. Ginny's hand dropped to her side. "Hermione wouldn't do that."

"That?" Ginny frowned. "It has a name, Harry. Suicide. And I know it's hard, but there is no other explanation."

"There's always another explanation." Harry shouted, all semblance of calm falling away. "Hermione wouldn't kill herself. And you should know that!"

Ginny felt tears stinging her eyes. Damn it! She'd been crying for days now. What right did he have! She watched him storm away and wished for nothing more than to turn back time.

He was right, after all. She'd been one of the few people Hermione had been in constant contact with after leaving Hogwarts. Harry traveled and was notorious for forgetting to give his location. Hermione would call Ron occasionally, but not so much after he married. But they'd remained close. Close enough for Ron to name Hermione godmother to his daughter.

Ginny remembered how Hermione's face lit up, always bright and shining, when she saw the now three-year-old girl. Hermione would grab her by the arms and swing her around, their joyful shrieks and laughter a special kind of music.

The memory faded and Ginny fell to her knees. It was cold, Harry's apparition point on a grassy knoll far from prying eyes. "Why!" she screamed at the starless sky. The heavens did not answer her.

* * *

"Hey, Ginny!" Hermione rushed into her office. "I've had the most spectacular of ideas. You must guess!"

Ginny laughed, spinning around to face her friend. Merlin, she loved her swivel chair. "You..." she paused for dramatic effect. "are going to finally publish that manuscript you finished years ago?"

"Don't be silly!"

"Okay, okay…hmm…you've decided to have progeny?"

Hermione laughed heartily and flopped into the stiff chair across from Ginny.

"Not at all, my dear."

"Then what?"

"I…" Hermione took a deep breath. "Am going to have a yard sale."

"A what?"

"A yard sale. It's a muggle tradition. You give things away. Or, actually, you sell them for very low prices."

Ginny's brows shot together. "But Hermione, what are you going to give away?"

"My stuff."

"Why?"

Hermione turned thoughtful. "I don't know." But her smile returned and she jumped up. "Well, I must be going. I'm just on lunch. But I couldn't eat anything, I'm such a blimp."

Ginny groaned. "You're a scarecrow, Hermione. I really want to hold you down and shove your face full of fish and chips."

"Oh please," Hermione buttoned up her winter coat with frail hands.

Ginny took the moment to observe her friend. Hermione's hair was pulled back in a ponytail, unkept and definitely in need of some deep conditioning treatments. Hermione never bothered to put on makeup, which would be beneficial, with the large crescents beneath her eyes. Lack of sleep, Ginny decided.

"You work too hard, Hermione. We should take a holiday."

Hermione looked up. "You mean leave?"

Ginny laughed. "To wherever you want, my treat."

Hermione fidgeted with the cuff of her coat. "Uh, well, maybe some other time, I'm much too busy."

"Oh come on! You hardly leave your apartment, aside from work and when I physically drag you away!" Ginny threw her hands up in exasperation.

"I know." Hermione said simply.

And left.

* * *

Ginny was ready to spell away her tear-ducts if they did not stop the liquid tirade. She was tired of crying. But every memory, every haunting thought was clouded with Hermione. And all the signs that Ginny had missed.

Right now she needed to pull herself together. She was supposed to be at Hermione's apartment soon. Ginny stood, her whole body shaking from exhaustion. Apparating would be a horrible mistake, she decided. She called the cab company, muggle transportation would be safer.

Harry had already arrived, as had Ron, by the time Ginny got to Number 13 Horace Lane.

"Sis." Ron greeted her with a hug.

The house had little in decoration. Hermione had never seen the point. Thinking back, Ginny found that a bit odd. Had Hermione been planning to live elsewhere?

She glanced at the few things Hermione had left on her table. Two cans of diet coke and a few weeks worth of newspapers, neatly stacked.

"Why was she keeping these?" Ginny asked leafing through the stack. The dates were from June of two years ago through this September. "Strange."

Harry leaned over her. "Maybe she wasn't really thinking about it as keeping. You know how Hermione is…was, she probably recycled them or something."

"Possibly." Ron said, looking at the pictures on the mantle. "Do you think it's strange she doesn't have any pictures of us?" he asked. "Or anyone we know?" he added peering at the unfamiliar faces.

Ginny came over to take a look. "Their muggle photos. Why?"

Harry shrugged. "She preferred them."

"Oh. Sorry." Ginny wished Harry wasn't so on edge. Everything she did seemed to offend him.

"Where'd you find her Ron?"

Ron knocked over the row of books he'd been looking at. "H—Harry…c'mon. You don't really want to know, do you?"

Harry nodded and Ron reluctantly led the way. "I found her here." He said as they reached the base of the stairs.

"And they think she, what, intentionally threw herself down the stairs to break her neck?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "That's what the muggle police decided."

Harry spun around. "How? Just tell me how?" he asked angrily.

"C'mon Harry, you didn't see her…I don't want to think about it." And he really didn't. Ron could still see every detail of what he had found, it was never going to leave him.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ron knocked again. "You home?" Getting no answer, Ron pulled out the copy Hermione had given him. He turned the lock, opened the door.

The apartment smelled of burnt coffee.

"Hermione?" Ron called once more. Closing the door he made his way into the kitchen. A pot sat on the burners, obviously the source of the burnt smell. "Aw, damn Hermione you could have burned the house down." There was an unused coffee mug and spoon out.

"Hermione!" He called loudly as he picked up the spoon. There was no answer. Maybe she was ill, he thought, making his way to the stairs.

Her back was to him when he saw her. Hermione's back to him…but her face looking right at him, her eyes open and glassy…one lid half closed. A trail of dried, flacking, blood ran from the top of her head to her neck where it disappeared from his sight.

Ron couldn't swallow. His heart beat too hard. His body was frozen and the wall behind him was his only support.

She had fallen, that was his first thought. His second that there must be something he could do to help her…but his body wouldn't move. And he knew she was dead.

Slowly Ron walked over to her, kneeling…his fingers shaking as he closed her blank and lifeless eyes.

Then, he'd broken down and cried. He'd grabbed her to him and cried over her dead body. Cried until there wasn't anything left in him.

Afterward, he'd called the police.

* * *

Ron slid down that same wall, his head in his hands. "It was horrible, Harry. Her staring at me, gone." Ron shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the plastic in one, he withdrew it. "I picked up her personal affects. From the morgue." He stood, wiping at swollen eyes. Turning from his worst nightmare he went back to the kitchen and dumped the contents on the table.

"There's her ID," he said as he sorted through the pile. "a ring and a necklace." Ron stepped back as Ginny and Harry picked up the items.

"Jewelry?" Ginny asked, turning the simple jade ring over in her hands.

"What is it?"

Ginny shook her head. "Hermione doesn't wear jewelry."

"Well, obviously she does." Harry said picking up the necklace. "You know, this looks oddly familiar." He said, turning it over.

Ginny glanced up from the ring. "Oh my."

"What?" Harry turned to her. "Something wrong?"

"That's a promise necklace." She took it gingerly from Harry. Then shook her head. "Whatever it was, Hermione fulfilled her promise. The magic binding it to her is gone." Ginny looked at it curiously now.

"What do you mean?"

"Well…this type of promise necklace has a—a"

Ron sat down. "Please just spit it out."

"There are always two."

"So you mean that someone has one just like this?" Harry asked. "Can you tell what the promise was?"

Ginny shook her head. "But if Hermione has died, and the promise the other person made to her wasn't fulfilled, that person is cursed."

Harry looked at Ginny and rolled his eyes. "Who would Hermione make a promise to that isn't in this room? You said she hardly ever left the apartment."

"She never left. Only for work. She stopped going out with me a few months ago." Ginny replied.

"Can you find out who the other person is, maybe they know what happened. Maybe they're responsible."

"Oh Harry, give it up. This isn't another Hogwarts adventure where you save the day and everyone turns out okay. She'd dead. Hermione committed suicide."

"I don't believe that."

"You don't, or you can't?" Ron screamed.

Ginny pushed the two apart. "Let's go upstairs, Harry. We'll look for Hermione's wand."

Harry nodded, glaring at Ron. "Just because you've given up on her doesn't mean I will."

Ron watched Harry's retreating back. "I didn't give up on her, she died on me."


	2. Life and Death Part 2

Ugly

**The Life and Death of Hermione Granger**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Make this promise to me now. Swear to me you will keep it. Make this promise to me and I'll never leave. Make love's enduring promise and together we shall go to a world unknown._

* * *

"Did you help Hermione move in?" Harry asked as he walked around the too neat bedroom.

Frowning, Ginny picked up a book from the bedside table. "No." she flipped it open. It was a collection of poems by authors she didn't know. "Hermione said that she had someone helping her." She glanced at Harry. "I thought it was you, actually."

"Me?"

Ginny shrugged. "Well she said she had a friend who was going to help her move in, that I needn't bother to come. They were almost done." She began to read the page Hermione had marked.

_I know what the caged bird feels, alas! _

_When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; _

_When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, _

_And the river flows like a stream of glass; _

_When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, _

_And the faint perfume from its chalice steals-- _

_I know what the caged bird feels!_

_I know why the caged bird beats his wing _

_Till its blood is red on the cruel bars; _

_For he must fly back to his perch and cling _

She closed it without finishing. "You know, the more I think about it…just little things…the more I realize that suicide really isn't a far fetched idea."

Harry rounded on her. "You can't be serious! No one just…" Harry's hands made motions, cutting through the tension thick air. "No one commits suicide on their way to work, with coffee on the burner! Why wasn't it just an accident, huh? Seems more likely to me, than suicide." He said coldly.

"The police...and corner. They had their reasons, Harry! I don't know everything so don't yell at me!"

"Well, if they thought suicide, something must have been suspicious. What about this friend who helped her move in. Maybe that person pushed her."

Ginny placed a hand on his shoulder but Harry shrugged it off. "It wasn't suicide, Ginny. I know it."

"Harry, I—"

Harry pushed her away. "Just get away from me."

He sat down on the bed and stared at the floor. Ginny was silent, then she obeyed him and left. He heard her soft footsteps going down the stairs—the stairs that had ended Hermione's life. Harry heard Ron whisper and Ginny answer.

Standing, Harry paced the length of the bedroom. "Come on Hermione, give me a hint. Something!" he pleaded with gods he'd never believed in.

* * *

"Good grief, Harry! When'd you get so much stuff!" Hermione gave him a quick hug. It was six months since their graduation.

Harry picked up another box with a grin and dumped it into her outstretched arms. "It won't look like much when it's out of the boxes."

Picking up his own box, he followed her into his new summer home.

"What are they paying you?" Hermione asked in awe as she entered. "It's got to be a hell of a lot more than what I'm getting."

Harry looked at her worriedly. "You're getting by all right?" Hermione tugged nervously at her cuff.

"Oh, I get by."

"You know, Hermione, I've more money than I know what to do with. I don't mind sharing."

Hermione shook her head. "Nah…I'm doing fine. Thanks, but…" she eyed his with a smile. "But pretty soon you'll have yourself some high maintenance witch, you're going to need that money."

Harry laughed heartily. "Oh Merlin, that will be the day!" he hooked an arm around her shoulders. "Jeez, Hermione, you're getting kind of skinny."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, Harry." She bent down to open the boxes they'd brought in. She pulled out a Marilyn Monroe lamp. Raising an eyebrow inquisitively, Hermione eyed Harry.

"Hey, you've found my high maintenance babe." He took the lamp from her and set it on a table.

"Men." Hermione mumbled and Harry laughed. "That's just disgusting."

Harry nodded his head. "It is, but she doesn't say much. Which is good."

Hermione smacked him gently. "You're such an idiot."

"Proud of it, too."

"Ok, Romeo, lets get your stuff unpacked, looks like it will rain soon."  
Nothing really eventful happened over the next hour. It did start raining, just as Hermione had predicted.

"So, Ron sort of mentioned you've stopped coming round."

Hermione paused, not looking at him. "Well, you know. He's got his wife and daughter. I don't want his wife to think he's having an affair or something."

"That's a good reason. I haven't met her yet. She a bit eccentric?"

Shaking her head, Hermione placed a vase on the mantel. "No, not really."

"What have you been doing to fill your time then, if you aren't haunting Ron's house anymore?"

Hermione laughed. But her eyes were sad. "I go to work and come home. That pretty much takes up all my time."

"Wow, they must be working you really hard."

"No. Not really."

Harry dropped it. He wasn't getting anywhere. When they finished, he made tea.

"Thanks for your help, Hermione."

"You're welcome."

Harry stirred his tea. "I'll take you home, that rain isn't stopping and I noticed you didn't bring your wand." He was puzzled when Hermione jumped in her seat and paled.

"You don't have to do that. I can get home alright."

"Hermione?"

She didn't look up.

"Hermione, what's going on? Is something wrong? You can tell me. You know that, right?"

Looking up Harry recognized the composed face. It was the one he used to hide behind. "Nothing is wrong, Harry." Hermione stood and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you later."

"Okay. Take care of yourself."

Hermione had looked at him for a moment too long before leaving, closing the door softly behind her.

* * *

Harry resisted the urge to punch something—anything. She'd been so damn careful not to let anything slip. What was she hiding?

Harry picked up the book Ginny had looked through earlier. He flipped the cover open and stared. In faded ink on the inside cover was written:

_Don't forget. _

_Your Promise Keeper_

Harry sat down and turned the pages of the book one by one until he found what he was looking for. In the same looping script was written:

_To remember..._

Below was a poem. Harry read through it slowly, murmuring one line aloud. "I would indeed that love were longer-lived. And vows were not so brittle as they are" At the end, Harry found a second note.

_Not for us. Our vow not brittle but bound tightly into our very lives._

Harry closed the book. This was a clue. His first clue that there was a guy. A man who'd been in Hermione's life.

A man, important to Hermione.

A man that wasn't him.

* * *

Ron opened the door for the owl. "Sorry fella, she can't accept that. But I can." He tried to take the letters from the owl, unsuccessfully. "Okay, okay." He said as he sat back down. Ginny came in and looked between man and bird.

"Mail?" she asked. Ron nodded. Ginny came up to the owl, "It's okay, I can take her mail for her." The owl looked skeptical, but let Ginny untie the letters.

"She was getting the Daily Prophet delivered." Ron took the paper and opened it up. "I wonder if they said anything about her death."

He flipped open the paper to the obituaries. "What the..."

"What is it?"

"You're not going to believe this." Ron shook his head.

"Try me."

"Malfoy…" Ron shook his head again.

"Malfoy what?"

"He died."

"Oh."

Ron read the whole five sentences devoted to Draco Malfoy in the Daily Prophet.

_Draco Malfoy, heir to Malfoy fortune, died last Tuesday morning on his way to work. Malfoy worked for his father as a public relations assistant. Mr. Malfoy's black Porsche crashed along a muggle interstate. It is still unclear what happened. Muggle police have yet to rule the case an accident or suicide. Malfoy senior has ordered an investigation into his son's death._

"That's odd." Ginny commented. "Hermione died Tuesday morning."

"I know." Ron shook his head. "Scary coincidence."

He left the room.

"Maybe it wasn't." Ginny said looking at a letter in the pile she'd taken from the owl. There was only one that wasn't a bill. Ginny opened it and took out a folded piece of paper, typed in bold black was a single sentence.

I haven't heard from you in several weeks, owl me.

Ginny folded the letter, holding it tightly. "What were you into Hermione?"


	3. Details

Ugly

**Details**

**Part One**

* * *

Harry hadn't much patience for waiting. He'd always taken situations into his own hands. This case was not going to be any different.

Only this time, he didn't have two friends by his side.

He marched into the muggle police station with one intent—to destroy.

"Sir, you can't go in there!" cried an officer as Harry barged through Detective Millstadt's door.

"It's alright, Carl. I was expecting Mr. Potter." Detective Millstadt turned to Harry. "Kindly close my door."

Harry, seething, did as he was told.

"What is this?" he slammed the day's newspaper, folded to page six, onto the detective's desk.

The detective sat down, eyed the paper before folding his hands. "That would be the official police report on Ms. Hermione Granger of number 13 Horace Lane.

"She did not commit suicide!" Harry paced back and forth. "You have no evidence and you just go and…and" his hands were moving frantically, "announce that my friend committed suicide to the whole world!" he finished, breathing hard, waiting for the detective's reaction.

And was sorely disappointed when he didn't receive one.

"Mr. Potter, were you close to the deceased?"

Harry sputtered. "What the bloody hell kind of a question is that?"

"Standard." Detective Millstadt replied simply. He laced his fingers. "You and Ms. Granger had been friends during your school days, am I correct?" Detective Millstadt shifted papers on his desk—obviously looking for something.

Harry took the seat across from the detective. "That's correct."

"At which time you both, along with one, Ronald Weasley, attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Harry went very, very still. "How do you know that?"

"Not all muggles are clueless to your world, Mr. Potter." The detective leaned back in his chair. "We work side by side with Ministry officials, when there is a death of a witch or wizard."

Harry absorbed this information. "So, you're working with the Ministry and they were okay with declaring Hermione's death a suicide?"

"More or less, they were the ones who pushed for it."

"What!"

"I think you heard me Mr. Potter."

"Why?"

"You said that you were friends with Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger in school?" Harry nodded. "Did you keep in touch after you graduated?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I talked to her all the time."

"Define 'all the time' for me, Mr. Potter."

Harry cringed. "I talked to Hermione about once or twice a month. I saw her about every three months."

The detective nodded. "And during school, did you really know Ms. Granger?"

"She was my friend!"

"Mr. Potter, those closest to us, are the easiest to overlook." The detective looked at Harry kindly, his words soft.

Harry covered his eyes. He couldn't cry, wouldn't. "I forgot her."

The detective nodded, even though Harry didn't see it. Detective Millstadt opened a drawer and removed a folder. "She was lost a long time before that."

Harry looked up. "What's that?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Proof."

"Proof of what?"

Detective Millstadt stood and pulled several documents from the folder, laid them on top, and pushed them across to Harry.

"You'll see. Good day, Mr. Potter."

Harry gathered the folder and left without a word. He was no longer ready to destroy the muggle detective. Harry set his sights a bit closer to home. He'd seen the name of the Ministry official assigned to Hermione's case—Dean Thomas.

Apparateing —Harry was not the biggest fan, but it got him where he needed to be and got him there fast.

Dean Thomas looked up from behind his desk and jumped, paled and stood as Harry stormed his office.

"Now, Harry, don't kill me." Dean shrunk into the corner as Harry advanced. "I was going to contact you."

"When? After Hermione was long buried?"

Dean looked as if he had considered just that. "But—I"

"HOW!" Harry growled and shoved Dean into his chair.

"Because, it's true."

"Damn it, Hermione did not commit suicide!"

"Harry…" Dean sighed. "Harry." He tried again.

Leaning against the wall, Harry deflated. "Just tell me why you did it? Why would you slander her like that? Hermione was your friend, too. Doesn't she deserve the truth?"

Gingerly, Dean took the folder Harry had dropped on his desk. "It…it's a long story, you won't like it much." He warned.

"There's not much I like lately." Harry sat down. "Please, just tell me."

Dean grimaced. "It goes back a long time. Back to Hogwarts."

* * *

Hermione hid out in the library for several reasons. She loved books. And most people tended to avoid her there.

She needed a plan. She had told herself that good grades would be enough…but she couldn't believe that. Hermione glanced at her watch, decided it time for dinner.

They wouldn't miss her, Ron and Harry. She'd stay here and study.

She smoothed the page of the book she was reading, then set it aside. She needed to get serious. Pulling out her potions book she set to work.

Alone.

That thought kept creeping through her mind—she tried not to let it affect her. But it did. It always did.

Alone.

Losing her concentration, Hermione slammed the book shut, apologized to Madam Pince and left the library. The hallway was dark and empty. Hermione shivered. She felt so alone. Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a shooting star.

"I wish." She felt her heart clinch. "Not to be misunderstood." Closing her eyes she felt hopelessness run over her. It fueled her veins like blood, but wasn't supportive to the rest of her body. It filled her with a sense of desperation. Frozen and desperate. Unable to move, to act, to solve. Unable to live.

Not even her best friends understood her. She loved them very much—but they were clueless to her needs.

It wasn't like she had many, just one or two. Little things.

The night beckoned her, the stars twinkling excitedly. Hermione ran from the castle, seeking a freedom she didn't quite understand. By the edge of the lake she dropped her books and threw her head back. There was something liberating in twirling. Cold air rushing past her, the stars a dazzling jewel reflected in her eyes.

"Do you have to do that?"

Hermione stopped twirling and turned towards the voice. A shadow that looked very much like a boulder shifted.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled and picked up her books.

"Where are you going?"

"Back inside." Hermione watched the shadow grow tall and lean. "I didn't mean to bother anyone. I'll leave now."

The shadow reached out and clasped her arm. "No. Stay."

"Malfoy?" Hermione didn't know whether to be amused or horrified.

"Granger."

And that is Malfoy speak for yes, Hermione thought as he sat back down, pulling her with him.

It wasn't much.

But she wasn't alone.


	4. Details Part 2

Ugly

**Details**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Alone may be the way I die, but you will be there, by my side._

* * *

Ginny paced the living room of Harry's summer home. Back, turn, stalk, back, turn, stalk. She'd been there for what felt like hours. Ron was asleep on the sofa, his mouth open slightly.

The door opened and closed, a rain soaked Harry entered.

"Harry?" Ginny stepped forward. He turned away from her.

"Go away and take Ron with you." Harry grumbled. Removing he shoes, he dumped the copious amounts of water inside them onto his hardwood floor.

"Harry!" Ginny rushed forward, mopping up the mess with Ron's coat—her own was out of reach and much more expensive.

Ignoring her, Harry went to the kitchen, set water to boil and went upstairs to change.

Bleary-eyed Ron watched Ginny curiously. "He come back?"

"Sort of." Ginny bit her lip. Physically, Harry was here, but…

"But mentally unstable?" Ron yawned. "Maybe we should have him committed."

Ginny turned and glared. "You—you're disgusting!" she cried.

Ron's eyes widened. "Gin, I'm sorry. It was a joke. I was just..." Ron closed his eyes. "Just trying to lighten the mood."

"Joking! At a time like this! Of course, you can joke. You've got a perfect fucking fairy tale life…not all of us are living a fairy tale!" she screamed. All her pent up anger and anguish rushing out—her target, Ron. "Hermione didn't get the life she deserved! Neither did Harry! Not all of us are happily married with a daughter and another one on the way!" she was furious now. "So don't go trying to lighten the mood, dear brother." she spat out the last words as if they poisoned her tongue. Turning on her heal she stormed away, no particular destination in mind.

Ginny found herself in the laundry room—a room full of convenient objects to kick and destroy.

She did just that.

* * *

Hermione sat in silence, aware that she was holding her breath. She was sitting next to Draco Malfoy, in the dead of night. She had every reason to be scared.

"You know." he said abruptly, causing Hermione to shiver. "I never took you for a twirler."

"Why not?" she asked defensively.

Malfoy didn't look at her, he didn't move, just continued to gaze out over the black, glassy surface of the lake. "Twirlers are little girls who know nothing of the true ugliness in the real world." His voice was harsh, his words sharp. "They are protected by their parents, they have people who laugh with them. People who give a damn."

"Are you saying I don't have anyone who cares for me, Malfoy?"

His blond hair glinted in the starlight. "You're here, aren't you?"

He was silent again—obviously thinking that was enough. But, it only riled Hermione. How dare he think he knew her! How dare he say no one cares, in that snarky way? How dare he say her very thoughts.

"You talking about yourself Malfoy, or just me?"

"Silence is golden, Granger."

Hermione glared, contemplated going back in. Surely Harry and Ron were looking for her…

She sighed. They were her friends, they cared for her, but she was invisible.

So she sat on the side of the lake, next to her enemy—it was better than being alone. When morning came, she woke cold and stiff. And to her surprise, found that Malfoy was still there.

* * *

Ron and Harry stood outside the laundry room where noises of destruction could be heard. "Ginny?" Harry opened the door.

Ginny's face was red and tear streaked, her breathing uncontrollable. She kicked at the fallen hamper sending it flying. Harry grabbed her arm.

Ron hugged her hard. Ginny stopped kicking, clung to Ron and continued to cry.

It took them all a considerable amount of time to calm down. Ginny apologized to Ron, who had cried and told her how much she and Harry meant to him.

Now seated around Harry's table, tea and biscuits set out, they were setting the facts straight.

"Dean gave you all this? Isn't that illegal?"

Harry wanted to smile, but he couldn't remember how. "He was probably worried I'd take it by force."

"Probably thought he'd have you're vote for Minister of Magic if he bent the rules a bit. Politics are stupid, mate." Ron added.

Ginny shook her head. She really didn't care what Dean Thomas's reasons were. She wanted to know about the life Hermione had lived. "Can we please try and figure this out?" she looked over the papers. "I have work tomorrow."

Harry nodded. "Okay, Hermione's fireplace was connected to the floo network, however..."

"She was only connected to one fireplace?" Ron asked, his face growing confused. Harry nodded.

"Who was she connected too?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. The connection terminated upon her death. Everything did, actually."

"But only one fireplace?" Ron shook his head. "I mean, I'm hooked into the floo network, I have like three hundred fireplaces I'm connected to. Hermione had only one? Why connect at all?"

Harry rubbed his eyes. Dean knew who the person in Hermione's life was, but he'd told Harry he would have to figure it out for himself.

If only Hermione had left something! Anything.

"Wait a minute. Where's Hermione's wand?"

Ginny sat back. "It's not in the apartment. I looked all over for it."

Harry stood, excited now. "You can trace a wand! You can find out where it is! There are spells…"

The kitchen was quiet.

"You know, Harry…" Ron said after a second.

"That's very true." Ginny finished with a smile. Her heart felt lighter for the first time since Ron had shown up with the news.

Maybe Hermione had left them a clue after all.

* * *

"Do you sit outside at night often?" Hermione asked.

"I guess." Draco replied. They were serving detention together, scrubbing the great hall—without magic. Granger had gotten hers from Snape, while his had come from Flitwick.

"Why?"

Draco sat back on his knees. "Because it's dark out."

"Oh." Hermione continued scrubbing. "You don't worry about the giant squid or creatures from the forest?"

"Granger, do you ever let others ask the questions?"

Offended, Hermione turned her back to him.

"I am the way I am, Malfoy. I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Same here."

Hermione stood, hands on hips. "You are so arrogant." She stated plainly. Malfoy stood and countered her.

"You're such a know-it-all."

"Well somebody has to show the professors that the student body isn't completely stupid!"

Draco grinned. "Is that how you see us? No wonder you have no friends."

She threw her rag at him, happy that it had been soaking in the bucket. It hit him with a nice loud slap.

Draco looked down at his now soaked clothes. "You." he took a deep breath and looked up. "Did not just do that."

Hermione sneered. "Not at all."

"Really, very classy. I expected better from you." Draco got back on his knees and continued scrubbing. He tossed her rag across the room. "Fetch, Granger."

Hermione sighed and went to pick it up when, suddenly, water was washing over her back. "Oh!" She cried out, spinning around to see Malfoy lower the bucket.

"Oops."

Soaking, Hermione stalked for the other bucket.

"Oh no you don't!" Draco grabbed her around the waist. "We'll just call it even."

"We'll never be even." Hermione growled.

Draco thought for a second. "That's probably right."


	5. Hollow

Ugly

**Hollow**

**Part One**

**Downhill Slide**

* * *

_**Take my hand; hold it tight—promise me you'll stay through the night.**_

* * *

_You can make me breathe..._

Ron woke to silence. Complete and utter silence that sucked the breath from his lungs. Quiet silence…no such thing had ever existed in his life. Slowly, Ron turned over to find the other half of the bed empty. A shiver ran down his spine. Though he'd been accused of being dense for the majority of his life, it didn't take him long to panic.

The house was empty. It was just him and the cat, Crookshanks. Hermione's gift to his daughter on her second birthday.

* * *

"Hermione!" Julie, Ron's wife, crushed Hermione in a hug.

"Julie." Hermione managed to squeak.

"I'm so glad you could make it. We hardly see you around these days. Ron says you're very busy with work and all. How's it going?"

Hermione took a deep breath, pulling on her cuff. "Oh, you know…" she trailed off, catching sight of Harry.

Julie smiled. "Here, dear, I'll take that from you." Taking the present that Hermione had been carrying. "Go mingle."

She gave Hermione an unneeded push in the back. Hermione didn't want to mingle. She wanted to go home—but with a smile that hurt, she proceeded to shake hands with many of her co-workers and ex-classmates.

"There you are, Hermione." Ron managed to circle around a group of busy bodies without being snagged. "Where have you been hiding?"

Swallowing hard, Hermione tried hard not to pale. "H-hiding?" Her voice quivered. "Why would I be hiding?"

Ron was torn. Pry or let lie? His smile faltered as his inner conscience raged war with his heart.

"Hermione!"

"Harry." Hermione turned to accept Harry's less crushing hug. "Now, if anyone's been hiding themselves, Ron, it's Harry here."

War was postponed, as Hermione had opted for let lie. "Too true! Where have you been hiding yourself, mate?"

Harry shrugged. Ron watched his two best friends. They were living lives he wasn't a part of. For a moment, he missed the days where they had risked life and limb together—but as quick as it had come, it left. Leaving Ron feeling empty.

"I've been working, you know. Busy. How about you?" Harry directed his question at Hermione, however, dense Ron answered.

"Oh man, I've been swamped, I—"

Hermione laughed, her face cracking into the first real smile either friend had seen in a long time. Harry winked and the three turned as Madeline came rushing toward them.

"Aunty!" Madeline, being only two, found it hard to pronounce Hermione's name. Ginny walked over.

"Traitor. I'm your Aunt." She whispered into Madeline's ear.

Grinning, Hermione bent down. "I brought you a special present. Do you want it?"

Madeline nodded her head vigorously. Her red curls bouncing in anticipation.

"Only if Mommy says she can." Ron said sternly.

"Yes, Daddy." Hermione rolled her eyes, Harry choked on the wine he'd just sipped.

"I heard my name." Hermione and Harry turned to Julie. "What's that you said, Ron?" she made her way over to embraced him. Harry lowered his eyes. Hermione stared, lost.

The awkward moment lasted a long, long time.

"Please, some of us just ate." Harry joked, braking the barrier that had descended.

Ron's ears turned a bright shade of red.

A very impatient Madeline demanded presents. Her dotting parents gave her just that.

Hermione's present was the first to be handed to the little girl.

It was a very angry Crookshanks.

"Hermione?" Ron's face was worried. "You gave away Crookshanks?"  
But Hermione wasn't beside him.

"Harry, where is she?"

They searched the house.

But she was gone.

* * *

The note on the kitchen table was reassuring but not heart warming.

_Ron-_

_I can't stand to see you suffer. I am sorry that I was once jealous of your friendship with Hermione, I was being stupid. Please, take the time you need to figure everything out. I've taken Madeline with me to visit my parents. They've been dying to see us. I will be back. Don't worry. I just want you and Harry and Ginny to figure things out. You need this closure._

_With all my love,_

_Julie_

* * *

Taking a personal day had never occurred to Ron. He loved his work. But Hermione was all he could think of. She haunted his dreams. After an hour at work, Ron took a personal day—one that would last the next week. His wife was right. He needed closure. He wouldn't be at rest until he found it.

Harry was in his kitchen, starring intently at the papers in front of him.

"Uh, Harry?"

Harry jumped. "Damn it, Ron. What are you doing here?" He shuffled the papers into a pile and pushed them away.

"Sorry." Ron stared at the floor.

Sighing, Harry stood. "Tea?"

"Thanks."

Harry made the tea, sat back down. "Ginny at work?"

"Yeah."

Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to Ron. "I guess we'll be on our own today."

"Yeah."

"Think we can survive a day together?"

Ron grinned. "I think I might be able to put off strangling you until tomorrow."

"That's reassuring." Harry did not smile.

"Okay, so what's first?"

"Hermione's wand."

* * *

The snow outside was crisp, clean and pure. Hermione sat on the window ledge, letting the chilled air of winter cleanse her.

"Granger?"

The voice startled her and she almost lost her balance on the ledge. Angry, she turned to see who had disturbed the peace. And was dismayed to find it was Malfoy.

"Don't you have a dungeon to haunt?"

"So cheerful." Draco leaned against the wall.

Ignoring him, Hermione watched new snow fall, the crystal flakes swirling and twirling—twirling. Memories of the night by the lake surfaced and Hermione was glad that Malfoy couldn't see her.

Sighing she held out her hand. A small flake drifted lazily and landed in her palm, melting from the warmth of her hand.

"Easy, isn't it?"

Hermione turned. Malfoy was watching her. "What is?"

"To destroy."

Snow fell. Quiet. Peaceful. Sad.

The two enemies watched in silence.

* * *

"So this is the spell. It'll tell us where her wand is, correct?"

"Yeah." Harry gripped his own want tightly. "Okay, ready?"

"One, two, three."

The spell was cast.

Ginny reorganized her desk for the eighth time that day. Sighing she leaned back, spun around, and watched the world revolve.

The nock on the door had her stopping abruptly. She fell to the floor.

"Ginny!"

Harry and Ron rushed in, to an empty office. The chair, that normally contained a stern Ginny, was spinning.

"Where'd she go?"

"I'm here. What is it?" A very disgruntled red head popped up from behind the desk.

"You fell out of your chair?"

"Shut it, Ronald. What is it?"

"We've located Hermione's wand."

* * *

Winter lasted a long time. Hermione was glad. She loved everything about it. Bundled from head to toe she stood at the top of a rolling hill, red sled in hand. Taking a running start she dived face first down the hill.

It was the closest thing to absolute joy she had ever known—sliding, speeding, flying. There was nothing in the world like it.

The bottom came too soon, but it didn't matter. She rolled off the sled and made a snow angel.

"You're a vision in white."

Hermione opened her eyes and all joy leached out of her. She sighed and sat up, disheartened.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Malfoy considered. "Do what, exactly. You have to elaborate Granger, I'm a bit stupid." He rolled his eyes.

"About time you admitted it."

"Yeah, well, there's no getting past you, is there?"

"You didn't answer my question?"

"You never elaborated." Malfoy pointed out, moving so that he towered over her.

"Why do you keep showing up? Do you enjoy tormenting me?"

"You give yourself too much credit, Granger."

"Then why?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Did it occur to you that I don't expect to see you either?"

Hermione had to admit, she hadn't. "I guess not."

Draco eyed the sled. "Would you?"

"Would I what?" Hermione stood, dusting herself off.

Malfoy indicated the sled. "Give me a ride?"

Hermione bit her lip. Against her better judgment, she nodded.


	6. Hollow Part 2

Ugly

**Hollow**

**Part Two**

**Strangers**

* * *

Winter ended. Seasons had a tendency to do that. And far too soon, as far as Hermione was concerned. And with winters end, so ended her non-existent relationship with Draco Malfoy. They had been meeting, by accident Malfoy insisted, unrelenting, almost every other day for months.

But as spring returned to Hogwarts. Hermione realized that no matter what, he hadn't changed, never said he had. He was Draco Malfoy…and a stranger.

* * *

"Harry, where are we going? We've been driving for…" Ginny checked the muggle watch Hermione had given her. "An hour and a half."

Ron shook his head. "Gin, just cool it, okay?"

"But you guys won't even tell—"

"Be quiet." Ron moaned, pressing his palms to his ears and slumping further into the seat.

Harry gripped the steering wheel tightly. Through tense lips he assured Ginny for the seventh time in that hour and a half that even he didn't know where they were going.

"Hermione's wand is at 1410 Dunrocher. That is all…I…know."

Ginny copied her brother and slumped. "Fine. Drive. Don't talk."

"Finally!"

Silence pursued in a car of friends—a car of strangers.

Ginny watched as it began to rain, the droplets making lazy races across the window. She sighed. Damn it, why couldn't Hermione have just told her…whatever it was. She'd have helped, Hermione didn't have to go and commit fucking suicide.

"We're here." Harry whispered as he pulled into the drive.

Tap, tap, tap. The rain knocked on the roof of the car as the three sat and stared.

The house wasn't large, but bigger than Hermione's apartment. Brick and ivy seemed to be the makeup of a rather picturesque home. Large paneled windows were covered by heavy dark drapes. No onlooker would be able to see through that, day or night.

Harry gulped. Finally, he assured himself, he'd get the answers he deserved. And may even conveniently wring someone's neck, as well.

The lawn was mown, neat and tidy. The gardens weeded, the trim of the large windows fresh and a car sat in the open garage.

"Was she living two lives?"

"I don't know." Harry whispered.

"Sure looks like it to me." Ron sighed.

* * *

"Granger."

"What!" Hermione was livid. The idiot had intruded on her territory—the library.

Draco leaned up against the bookshelf. "Whoa. Someone has an attitude problem."

"Look who's talking, ferret." Hermione hissed and turned back the section she had meticulously been combing through.

"Oh Granger, don't judge. It's supposed to be below you…but I guess nothing is really below you…"

Hermione gritted her teeth. "If you value your life, shut up."

"Well, I guess I don't."

Hermione took a long time to digest his words. "Great." She said finally. "Just dandy. The great Draco Malfoy is suicidal. Isn't that a hoot?" She pushed passed him and gathered her books.

Malfoy followed her silently out of the library, down the hall, and into a classroom. From there Hermione promptly turned around and walked out.

"Stop following me."

"I'm not."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, turned, and pushed her index finger into his chest. "I do believe you are."

"You don't know me."

"Never wanted to."

"My life story."

Hermione took a step back and looked at him quizzically. "What are you on? Drugs? Beause whatever it is, it's really messing you up."

"You don't know me." Draco repeated, not bothering to move.

She shook her head. "I know that Malfoy. And for the record." Hermione took a step forward. "I don't want to." Swirling on her heel, she left.

Draco didn't follow.

Instead he went outside, sat by the lake, and let himself drift away.

* * *

Harry, Ron and Ginny took a step back as the door swung open before they had a chance to knock. A petite, middle-aged woman in an apron greeted them.

"Good afternoon. May I ask who is calling?"

"Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley." Harry introduced them all.

"One moment. Would you come into the parlor please?"

The woman turned and ushered them in, closing the door swiftly behind them and disappearing.

"Said the spider to the fly." Ginny mumbled.

"You got that right." Ron said, his voice small.

"I don't think Hermione lived here." Harry said quietly. The other two shook their head in agreement.

The inside of the house was dark and only dimly lit by dust laden lamps. Color seemed to be absent or since leached from the walls. Long strips of wallpaper curled towards them.

"Reminds me of parchment." Harry whispered.

"More like a crypt." Ron countered, his voice now shaking.

"Madam will see you now."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny jumped as the woman returned.

"Thank you." Ginny said politely and they followed her into what was once a kitchen.

"I don't get visitors often." The woman at the table was a carbon copy of the one who had led them in. Her hair graying but still brown, twisted into a loose knot. "At least, not those who are unannounced."

"We're sorry for any inconvenience we have caused you." Ginny said softly.

The woman waved her hands. "Oh, tish, tosh. Come. Sit. Giselle, put on the tea."

The three sat as ordered. "Now, Giselle told me a Mr. Potter was here to see me?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, I…" he motioned to Ginny and Ron. "My friends and I are here to see you."

The woman leaned back. "On what business, Mr. Potter?"

Ginny bit her lip, Ron looked at the floor. Harry clasped his hands together. "It has to do with a friend of ours. Hermione Granger, do you know her?"

The woman smiled. "Oh, yes, dear girl…such a sweetheart. She left her wand. Giselle!"

"Yes Madam?" Giselle appeared by the door.

"Go fetch my daughter's wand."

"Daughters?" Ginny asked tentatively.

The woman nodded. "Oh yes, I adopted her, little stray soul. She and I met at the party, before her final year."

Ginny shook her head. "Hermione didn't go to parties."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "My dear, I don't think you know very much. Hmm?"

"What do you mean by adopted?" Harry leaned forward as Giselle returned, carrying Hermione's wand.

"Well, I am her friend. I take care of her, make sure she has all she needs." The woman paused. "He needn't have asked me to do it. I would have done it anyway. Hermione is such a blessing. Though…sad. Oh, but I'm saying nonsense. Here." She handed Harry the wand. "Make sure she gets it. You'll do that for me dear, won't you?"

Harry nodded. Glancing at Ginny he nodded his head. "Um, you see, the thing is...Hermione is…well, deceased."

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh. Well, I'm sure she's happy now."

"Are you implying Hermione wasn't happy?" Ron asked, anger growing inside him. First his wife left him—for good reasons but still, she left him, now this woman he had never met was telling him Hermione wasn't happy. A woman who knew more about his best friend than he did. A stranger.

"No. No." The woman tapped her long, jeweled, fingers on the table. "Hermione isn't always unhappy…she has her ups and downs like every young person. Nothing to get worked up about."

"Wasn't and had." Ron ground his teeth.

Ginny's gaze was on the woman's hands. "Your ring." She paused.

"Yes dear?"

"Hermione had one just like it."

"Of course she did, I gave her one. Made her part of the family."

Harry was trying to consume the information being thrown at him. "Did you give her a locket? A promise necklace?"

"No, just the ring."

Damn. "Where did you say you met Hermione."

"The party dear."

"Which one?" Ginny asked politely.

The woman thought for a second. "He invited me, charming young man. Let me see, it was a celebration…"

"Who is he?" Ron's temper was getting red hot.

"Oh, my son of course."

"Let me guess, you adopted him, too." Ron rolled his eyes.

"Ron!" Ginny hissed. "I'm sorry, his wife left him. Please continue."

"You knew!" Ron stood up, the chair falling over. "You knew!"

"Of course I knew. Julie wanted to make sure we'd take care of you."

"Let me guess, you knew about it too, Harry?"

Harry admired his shoes.

"I can't fucking believe this!" Ron marched from the kitchen. A second later the three could hear the door slamming and a stream of muffled curses.

Harry swallowed, set Ron's chair upright and apologized.

"It's alright. Your friend is under much stress."

"Yeah, so are we." Ginny mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Drink the tea dears, you'll both feel better."

Harry sipped. "Back to our question. Who is your son?"

The woman shook her head. "He is such a dear boy. He brought Hermione to me. He told me she needed me as much as he did."

"What exactly is it that you do?" Ginny gulped her tea.

"I used to be a children's counselor, for the muggle world. Now, I…there is no title to my job…I'm just someone that strangers can come to—for comfort."

"And your son? He came for comfort? He invited you to the party?"

The woman nodded.

"It was such a nice party."

* * *

"Good evening Ladies and Gentleman, and may I present your host, Lord Howard Blake."

The applause died down as the Lord, in all his grace, entered. "Let the festivities of this Hollows Eve ball commence!" It was obvious to the partygoers that their host had had more than his fair share of spirits already.

Draco reclined in a chair, a rigid Hermione beside him. "Don't be so tense."

"I wouldn't be tense if you hadn't dragged me here. I hate parties. I'm wearing a dress. And you're forcing me to meet your shrink."

"Shrink?" Draco rolled his eyes. "A stupid muggle term for someone who thinks they know everything about you, but knows jack shit."

"Very good Malfoy." Hermione muttered through gritted teeth.

"And she isn't my shrink. She's my friend."

"Draco Malfoy has no friends."

For the first time, Draco smiled. "Oh, what money can buy." He sang at her. Hermione's mouth dropped open. "I'm kidding."

"Draco Malfoy does not kid."

"Must be the alcohol. Try some."

"I'd rather eat dirt."

"Whatever, Granger. You're meeting my friend and maybe she'll be able to help you find a way to get your head out of your ass."

"That's it. I'm leaving!" Hermione stood and began to stalk away but was kept short of her goal. "Let go of my dress Malfoy."

"Sit down and I'll let go."

"Fine."

"You look very alluring tonight."

"Shove it, Malfoy."

Draco laughed. "Play time is over. She's here."

* * *

"She's a dead end." Ginny said as she got into the car.

"Maybe. I don't understand half of what she said." Harry started the car, put it in reverse. "We didn't even find out her name."

"We didn't find out anything." Ginny mumbled.

Harry sighed. "Yep, that about sums it up."

"Where'd Ron go?"

"I don't know."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"I guess we'll look into the promise necklace."

Ginny sunk into her seat. "Probably another dead end. Hermione left us with nothing to go on. The only thing we've found out is that she was a stranger."

"We're all strangers."

"I know. Sad, isn't it Harry? Friends are supposed to be there for each other." But we weren't.


	7. The Other Side

**Ugly**

**The Other Side**

**Part One**

* * *

_Hate drives you to extremes you cannot face alone—why not face it with your enemy?_

* * *

Lucius Malfoy did not like distractions. He did not like anything in particular. He hated sunrises, and despised sunsets. Color was a horrendous assault on his eyes, perhaps he'd remove them. But really, Lucius Malfoy hated life—his own and those beneath him. And it was his opinion that everyone was beneath him. He planned his days to the second; left not an inch of time unused. But the day his son died, time just fell away.

Lucius glanced out the window. He did not have time for the blubbering idiot in front of him. "Make your point, and quickly."

The man quivered. "Senior Malfoy, the investigation…it, it isn't going well."

Lucius stood, leaning over the desk. The man retreated. "And you think I didn't already know this?" He asked coldly. "My son has been dead two weeks, I would have thought that would be ample time to find out why!"

"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but your son didn't leave us anything to go on."

"Of course he did."

The man fidgeted.

Lucius faced the painting of his wife, himself and…Draco. "I want answers."

* * *

"Granger?"

Hermione jumped as Malfoy emerged from the shadows. It was becoming an annoying and increasingly frequent habit of his. "What do you want?" It was past nine o'clock, she needed to study. She needed to sleep, she needed…well, she wasn't quite sure what it was she needed, but Hermione was sure that the shadow-stalking-ferret wouldn't be able to offer her it.

"You want to go for a walk?" Draco watched his shoes.

"Why?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm lonely."

"And?"

"Do you always have to make everything complicated?"

"You're my enemy." Hermione stated, shifting the weight of the books in her arms.

"And you are mine. I'm not asking you to be my friend. I just wanted someone to be there."

Hermione shrugged. "You know, Malfoy, I don't understand you."

Draco took the books from her arms. "You said you didn't want to."

"I didn't."

"And you do now?"

"Well…" Hermione tugged on the hem of her robe and watched a truly odd looking smile cross Malfoy's face.

"Curiosity killed the cat. Shall we?" Draco nodded towards the hall.

Hermione sighed. Why did she care? She pondered this before realizing that she really didn't. She wanted to know, yes, but she didn't care—as Malfoy had said, curiosity killed the cat.

* * *

"Harry." Ginny shook his shoulder gently.

Harry twitched. "Hermione?"

Falling back, Ginny took a deep breath, glad now that Harry wasn't awake. She couldn't take this. She needed closure, she needed answers, she needed someone to hold.

She sighed, thinking of the life she had thought she'd have. A life full of friends and family and love—Ginny still didn't understand what she did, where she went wrong. But she had to have taken the wrong road, the wrong path. Life wasn't supposed to be like this, was it?

Hermione was supposed to be alive and successful. They were supposed to talk about relationships and heartaches and everything else Ginny wanted so desperately.

But more than anything, she wanted her friend back.

And that was something she could never have again.

Harry rolled over. "How long have you been here?"

"Just a few minutes. I didn't wake you, did I?"

Harry shook his head; his dreams had woken him—nightmares. "So, you want coffee…or tea?" Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Harry stood, stretching.

"Tea would be fine." Ginny took a deep breath. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you love Hermione?"

Harry closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn't break down.

* * *

Lucius closed the books on his desk, set the quill aside and stood. He walked to his son's room and opened the door. The room had been furnished as he had thought fit. Draco had never said anything about it. Had he an opinion about the décor, he wouldn't have said anything. That was the way his son had been raised. Lucius' policy of 'speak when and ordered to' had been accepted by his son—Lucius had been proud. He hadn't wanted a spineless boy. It took much to obey unconditionally.

Lucius noted the neatness of the room. That too, had been his expectation of Draco. He had not raised his son to be a slob. Everything was precisely as he would have required it to be.

In fact, the only accomplishment in Lucius Malfoy's life, that he was proud of, was his son.

The perfect son.

It hadn't been easy, but Lucius had been sure it would pay off—and it seemed to have…

But his son was dead.

His only accomplishment, dead. Lucius Malfoy didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

Sitting at his son's desk, he lay his head down. He didn't cry. He didn't sigh. Lucius Malfoy just closed his eyes and let the world die.

* * *

"So why did you come to me?"

Draco shrugged. "Don't think of it that way."

"Oh." Hermione sat beside Malfoy in the dark, overcast night. Not a star could shine through. "So what am I supposed to think of it as?"

"I don't know."

Hermione laughed.

"What's funny?" Draco turned to Granger, he could barely make out the outline of her body—black against black.

"You."

"Didn't know I was so fucking funny."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The things you do not know."

"Okay. That's it. Stop making fun of me."

"Why?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "It's oh so much fun."

"You wouldn't think so if…" Draco trailed off, not so sure he would carry through with the threat he'd been about to say. Or if he wanted to.

"If what, Malfoy? You going to attack me?"

"Something to that affect, yes."

Hermione went still.

Now it was Draco who laughed.

Hermione scooted a few more inches away from him.

"You want to know something Granger?"

Hermione didn't answer.

Draco sighed, not really caring if she heard, not really caring at all. He was admitting something to himself, something he'd been hiding from.

He'd been hiding for a long time.

It was time to come out.

So he took a deep breath and hoped the world would not come crashing down.

"Hermione…"


	8. The Other Side Part 2

**Ugly**

**The Other Side**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Hope floats, or so they say. But when you're sinking, Hope isn't enough to save you._

* * *

How does life change? When you've found a person just like you? Someone who is lost, hurt, afraid, lonely…someone who has thought of life after you are gone…someone just like you.

And what if this someone wasn't like you at all? How is it life can slap you and crush you into the ground? Give a glimpse of hope, only to snatch it back and laugh as you fall?

It was easy to become depressed. Ron sat alone in his home, lights off, the chair in which he sat cold and hard. Crookshanks had long ago left him…not even a cat would keep him company. Was this what Hermione had felt? Ron wondered as a feeling of emptiness filled him. Had she sat, all alone, in her apartment and listened to the silence—straining to hear something that wasn't there, a joyful laugh, a knock, anything…anything at all?

Had she wished for her friends? For the woman he didn't know? For someone who would wrap his arms around her and tell her it was all okay?

Had she wished for him? Or Harry. Or Ginny.

Had she thought of them at all?

Or had she given up on them a long time ago.

Ron closed his eyes and held them tightly against the tears, gulping as cold shivers ran down his arms, freezing his erratic heart.

The heart was a fragile thing, and when frozen, easily shattered. Ron shook his head against the pain of his thoughts, his heart…he pushed it all away. He pushed life away.

* * *

"Ron!" Hermione jumped as Ron apparated into sight. "What are you doing here?"

Shrugging Ron flopped into a chair. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to talk."

"Well, um, okay." Hermione glanced around. "You really should have called."

"Are you expecting someone?"

Hermione paled. "No, of course not. It's just, well…" A smile twitched on her lips. "I wasn't expecting visitors. I'm glad you're here."

"I should visit more often."

Hermione shook her head. "You're a very busy man now, Ron. What with your large office and lots of little minions to command."

"You're right. I do and I immensely enjoy ordering them about. Now I know why Malfoy did it so much."

"What?"

"Malfoy, remember? He always ordered people about."

"Oh, yes. I remember."

"Well, not to stoop to his level, but I kind of enjoy it."

Hermione leaned back into the couch, smiling at him fondly. "I'm happy for you Ron."

Laughing, Ron let his eyes peruse what he could see of her apartment. "So, how's work for you?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. Fine, I suppose."

When she didn't elaborate, they sat in silence. It wasn't the kind of silence that was thick or awkward. More so the silence in which both sat comfortably enjoying one another's company while maintaining their singular existence.

But time had a way of ruining such moments, and Ron knew he was needed back home. "That's good. Good." Ron slapped his knee. "Well, I have to be going. Come by sometime."

"Bye."

Ron waved and disapparated.

* * *

Harry hung up the phone and covered his eyes. For the sixth time, the florist had messed up the order. He just couldn't take it anymore. Harry lay down; not caring if the suit he was in became wrinkled. It was a suit for a funeral. Two funerals, if he would admit it to himself. He still could not believe that with all the money that the Malfoy's boasted, Draco Malfoy's wake and burial were the same day, time, and place as Hermione's.

Life just kept kicking him—what had he done to deserve this?

Had he offended some higher power before he was born, a past life?

As far as Harry could remember he had done what was right and he'd done it with a passion.

Why was it everything he ever cared about was taken from him? Hermione had joked about him and a future girlfriend…but how could he? How could Harry rightly bring anyone close to his heart ever again—with his track record, he would only be setting himself up for disappointment, and cutting someone's life short.

He was sure. No, he was positive that if he hadn't cared about Hermione Granger that she would be here today.

It was his fault.

Everything was his fault.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy wore black robes. He always wore black robes, today was no different. Lucius Malfoy would not let today be different. He wouldn't, that was just the way it would be. With his wife by his side, Lucius went to a place and loathed it's purpose. Today, he would bury his only son.

* * *

Draco had never felt anything for anything. That was what he had been taught. He showed hated because he was supposed to. But when hate and self loathing and everything else catches up with you—you're numb.

He was numb.

Hermione sat beside him. "You ever think of dying?"

"All the time."

The darkness between them wasn't a barrier; instead it allowed them to be themselves.

"Why?"

Draco leaned back against the rock. "Why does anyone think such things? Life doesn't go the way you want it to."

"Where do you want it to go?"

Draco laughed an unhappy laugh. "That's the thing. I don't know, and I'm not sure that I want it to go anywhere."

"Oh."

"And you?"

Hermione sighed. "I do, yes."

"Why?"

"Same reasons. But I guess I just don't feel that I belong. It's stupid, I know and I know its equally stupid that it's you I'm telling this to…but…"

Hermione looked to the sky. "I used to have so many dreams. So many things I wanted. I love life, I do. And when I say dreams, I don't mean huge things. Just little things. I want, this is going to sound girly, but, I want someone to..to…"

"To love you."

Hermione felt tears brim her eyes.

"You're parents love you." Draco said after she didn't answer.

Hermione shook her head. "Yeah, but, I don't know, that's not the kind I need. I don't really know if I really even believe in love. I just—Merlin this is stupid, you're going to make me regret this. I just need someone to need me…to want me."

"I could never love you."

Even though it was dark, Hermione squared her shoulders. "I wouldn't want you to."

Draco took a deep breath. "But maybe…" He looked in her general direction. "Maybe we could be there for each other."

The silence lasted a long time.

"I don't understand you."

"No one ever will."

"Okay."

"And for the record, I don't like you."

Hermione laughed. "Same here Malfoy."


	9. Broken

Ugly

**Broken**

* * *

Youth is a china tea and silver leaves, ropes of gold and dreams you hold.

Reality is broken china, shredded leaves, frayed ropes and dreams deceased.

* * *

_Happily left alone. One can presume they are happy. But can one be happy all alone. Left in the dark, the night, the depth of despair. Do you even know you are there?_

_I thought that my life was empty. I once thought a lot of things. Such as, the world is my backyard. The stars are fireflies. Life is perfect._

_Wasn't I stupid?_

_After all, everyone knows the world is vast. And what childish dreams to think that fireflies could live in a vacuum. But those all seem logical compared to this one. What the hell was I thinking? Life is perfect?_

_Oxymoron._

_You want another oxymoron. I'll give it to you._

_I am beautiful._

_Not in any way am I beautiful. The person to call me beautiful needs to have his head examined. Please, me, beautiful._

_There is nothing beautiful about myself. My hair is brown. My eyes are too, my body…well I just won't go there. I am nothing. Outside, but more so inside._

_And I know that Nothing cannot be beautiful._

Harry set the paper down, Ginny too stunned to move. Hermione hadn't been one to write down her feelings, why had she written that? And left it in a place so noticeable?

Had Hermione really written it?

"Harry?" He was still beside her. "Harry, are you okay?" Maybe, Ginny thought with a glimmer of hope, maybe he was beginning to see that Hermione did commit suicide.

But her hope was shattered.

"Who called her beautiful?" Harry asked. "Ginny, there's someone who knows something, someone who called Hermione beautiful." Someone who wasn't me.

Ginny sighed and leaned her head forward. "Harry…"

"We'll trace the locket. That's what we'll do. We'll research and we'll figure it out."

"Harry."

"I can get her statements. Maybe she bought it. No, no it's a guy. I know it. He would have bought it."

"HARRY!"

Harry became silent. Ginny took a deep, calming breath. "You need to let go."

Harry leaned back and nodded his head, his lips tightening. "You want me to let go."

Ginny nodded.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Did Hermione actually consider you her friend?"

Ginny blinked. "What? Harry—"

"Shut up." Ginny was so shocked that she could only gape at him. "You're jealous. You're jealous of a friend. A friend who's dead—dead and buried and you're still jealous!"

Ginny blinked back tears. "Harry."

"NO! I'm sick of you trying to get me to stop caring. You've been pushing this whole suicide story as much as Dean. You're jealous because I loved her!" Harry stood, pushing Ginny away when she tried to grab his arm.

"I've had enough. I'm going to find out what happened to someone who I cared about." He picked up his coat. "You know Ginny, that's just low. Really low." With that he turned his back on her and left.

Ginny cried softly, angry at his words, angry at the truth. Harry wasn't lying.

* * *

"Hey, Hermione. What's up girlfriend?"

Hermione shook her head. "How old are you? Come on, 'girlfriend' went out of style ages ago."

"Who said I couldn't bring the past back?"

Hermione straightened the stack of papers. "I'm working, Ginny."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "When are you not working?" She took the papers away from Hermione. "Come on, it is Friday night. Lets do something."

"Go find a guy, Ginny. I'm going home."

"Hermione." Ginny whined. Hermione shook her head, grabbed her coat and buttoned it up. "You have got to go shopping, too." Ginny grimaced at the olive green trench coat, trendy, yet, old. "Where'd you get that thing anyway?"

Hermione tied the wraps around her waist and knotted it. "A gift."

Ginny smirked. "From who?"

Hermione shrugged.

"Harry?"

Hermione shrugged.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Why didn't Harry give her gifts? She liked him, didn't she? Hadn't she made it perfectly clear?

"Have fun tonight."

"Whatever." Ginny stalked out of the office.

* * *

Ron hung up the phone. The cat was gone. The house was dark. His wife wouldn't take his calls. His mother and father were away. His brothers didn't have a number. There was no one. No one.

* * *

Lucius stood by his son's grave. The night sky was full of moonlit clouds. Lucius wasn't blind. He didn't turn his head. He observed. He knew his son's affection for the night, the sky. Darkness. He'd been proud of that. Even if he never asked what his son was thinking or why he'd sit outside in his mother's garden at night. Lucius didn't ask, that way, he couldn't be disappointed. Disappointments aren't allowed in the Malfoy world. He was happy to believe what he believed about his son—until he had gone and died.

Of course, it was Draco's fault that Lucius's beliefs and fantasies had been shattered. The locket his son had been wearing…

He'd figure it out. Lucius gripped the locket in his hand, rubbing the edges against his thumb. He stared, cold and hard at the sky, making a promise. Dropping the locket on his son's grave, he turned and walked away.

Draco tapped his foot impatiently. He knew Granger would be getting out of class soon. Most likely followed by Weasley and Potter.

He was crazy and he knew it.

He hadn't talked or seen Granger in a week, and as much as he hated to admit it, he missed her.

What exactly he missed, he wasn't sure.

Company?

Granger emerged from the room and Draco stepped further into the shadows, waiting as her friends tromped by him. They were brutes, big and gangly. But not the third, his hand shot out and he pulled her in with him.

"Shh." He whispered. His hand over her mouth. Her warm breath tickling his icy fingers.

They stood that way, for a heartbeat of eternity. Draco waited for the last person to leave the hall before he let go.

"Sorry."

Hermione glared. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Come outside."

"No." Hermione turned to leave. Draco caught her hand, his fingers wrapping desperately around her wrist.

"Please." He'd said both sorry and please in the same conversation. Draco would have congratulated himself…

"No."

Draco Malfoy didn't take no for an answer. "You said we could be here for each other."

"I didn't think you were serious."

"I am."

Hermione blinked at him, her eyes wary. "What do you want?"

"You promised. We promised." Draco corrected. "That we'd be there for each other. I need someone. You're the only thing I've got."

"You haven't got me."

"You're the closest thing I'll ever have."

"To what?"

Draco shook his head. "To someone. Anyone." He took her hand, surprised that she let him touch her.

They walked out under the starlit sky, they walked past the spot where it had all started. They didn't talk. They didn't do anything. They just walked.

Sometimes things start off small.

That night, a small thing happened. They began to care.

For each other.


	10. Broken Part 2

**Ugly**

**Broken**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Come to me by moonlight, come to me by midnight, i'll wait for you till midnight, i'll wait for you in the moonlight..._

* * *

Ugly, dark, grim, destitute, fallen, dismissed, put down, hated, gray, hopeless, confusing, hard, cold, revolting, stomach turning, distraught, painful, hysterical, raw, aching, heartache, despair…

Every ugly feeling that had consumed him as he stood in front of her open casket.

Hermione had been dressed in unaccustomed white—another blow to his fragile psyche. The artists who worked with corpses—who hadn't known Hermione even one little bit—had painted her face in hues of illusion. This body, this husk was not Hermione.

She was masked, lost, hidden. Never to be found.

The people who came to pay their respects and offer sympathy they didn't felt to the Grangers…it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, they were all fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

Nothing was real anymore.

No one was real. Everything they said was a lie.

Ron had stood by the side of the casket, protecting his friend, even when his protection meant nothing.

His friend, Hermione Granger had died in an ill-fated fall, her death had broken an unbreakable bond between her and Harry and himself.

He could remember every detail from that day. He could remember everything…the phony whispers, the silent tears. Ron didn't want to remember.

He wanted it to all go away.

But it wouldn't. Nothing like that does. Death marks you, haunts you, until you drown in it's dark waters.

Closing his eyes, Ron stopped trying.

Just stopped trying to block it all out.

And the memories washed over him.

* * *

Hermione was bathed in sunlight, soothed by the warm spring wind. The book lay in her lap, the pages rustling softly as she read.

"Books are a waste of time."

Hermione didn't even bother to look up. She knew who it was. Sighing, she continued to read.

"They just kill trees. It's not ecologically friendly. It takes factories to make the paper, and those factories pollute the air." The voice paused. "The water." Getting no reaction, Draco sat down. "What are you reading?"

Hermione continued to ignore him.

Draco leaned forward. "Is it good?"

Silence.

"Where are Potter and Weasly?"

Silence.

"Fine." He crossed his arms. "Don't talk to me."

Hermione didn't look up.

The minutes passed between them. Draco eventually leaning back on the new grass, watching the clouds go by. Hermione read.

"Remember when this all started?"

Hermione groaned and shut the book. "When did you grow so talkative?"

"I'm bored." Draco replied, his smug expression back.

"Yeah. Right." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course I remember."

"Strange, huh?"

"What is?"

Draco shrugged. "That I was sitting out there, trying to count the things I was lucky to have."

Hermione shook her head in confusion.

Leaning forward Draco continued. "You know, like being rich…"

Laughter bubbled from Hermione before she could stop herself.

"It's true!"

"You sure have a lot to be thankful for."

"Well, there's being rich, but being the best looking guy at Hogwarts comes in a close second."

"Is that all?"

"All what?"

"All you have to be thankful for?" Draco nodded. "Why were you thinking about that anyway?"

He stared at her intently for a moment before lowering his eyes to the ground.

"I understand." she said simply.

Draco smirked. "You should."

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger, is it all right if we come in?"

"Harry, right?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Yes, Hermione's friend from school."

Hermione's mom led Harry to the living room. The room was bare of pictures, even though Harry knew, not too long ago the living room had held pictures of a lively and brilliant girl.

"What is it you need, Harry?"

Harry sat down. "Mr. Granger, I just wanted to ask some questions. If it's alright, that is."

"We have already talked to the police, and the ministry detectives."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I know. But, I wanted to ask some rather strange ones." He grinned apologetically.

Mrs. Granger sighed. "Whatever you need."

"Thank you. Well, um, how often did Hermione visit?"

"About three times a week."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Really?"

Mr. Granger sighed, leaning forward he hung his head. "Hermione wasn't doing so well."

"You didn't think she was." Mrs. Granger interrupted.

Mr. Granger shook his head. "I didn't think Hermione was doing well after she left Hogwarts…so…I made her go see a psychiatrist."

"Lot of good it did her." Mrs. Granger said sharply.

Harry cringed. The tension in the room was near to breaking. "So, she saw a psychiatrist."

"Yes. And that man only prescribed her drugs." Mrs. Granger's voice rose high. "Drugs that made her even more isolated. Damn stupid man!" Standing, Hermione's mother left the living room. Harry heard a door slam.

"She's not taking this well. She blames the doctors, she blames the medication, she blames me."

"I'm sorry." Harry said softly.

"So am I. So am I."

The silence lasted until Mr. Granger spoke again.

"Hermione was a good kid. She never did anything wrong. She always did what we asked of her. We told her to clean her room. She cleaned her room. We told her to brush her teeth. She brushed her teeth. We told her to get good grades. She got good grades. She was perfect." He paused. "But now, I see that that is all she did. She did what we told her, and that was it. Nothing for herself, never…nothing good for her anyway. And hanging out with that Madame and that boy didn't help her any. They drug her down." Mr. Granger's voice began to fade. "Down, down." He sighed. "Until there was nothing left to destroy. And she killed herself."

Harry sat up. "Mr. Granger, I know this is painful, believe me…but who was this 'boy'?"

"I don't know." He shook his head, running his and across his forehead. "Hermione mentioned him occasionally when we asked her things and she slipped up. She never really told us anything about your world, her world."

"What kind of things did she say?"

"Nothing much. A thing here or there, and the time she received flowers from him on her birthday. I swear your damn mail system is screwed up, that stupid bird took out an entire window."

"Flowers." Harry whispered to himself. The locket.

"Anything else, can you remember anything else about this boy?"

Mr. Granger shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing."

Excusing himself, Harry left.


	11. Silence

**Ugly**

**Broken Silence**

**Part One**

* * *

_I say nothing, you can't hurt me. I say nothing, you can't break me. I say nothing, you don't know me. I say nothing, I lose you..._

* * *

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Draco rolled over, grimacing. "Granger?" He opened his eyes and closed them quickly. Bright morning sunlight was streaming through the open window.

Hermione leaned over him. Draco pushed himself up to a sitting position. "Your psychiatrist refilled that prescription, didn't he?" Groaning Draco dropped back down and put the pillow over his face. "Why do you take those? They only make you psychotically chirpy."

Hermione shrugged, a smile on her face. "Up!"

"No."

"Come on, you said we'd hang out today."

"Didn't know you had to take drugs to hang with me."

Hermione's smile faltered. "I am not."

"Are too."

"Fine. I don't want to be here anyway." Hermione turned and walked to the door.

Draco groaned. "Okay, okay, you win. I'm up."

Hermione grinned and ran over to him. Throwing her arms around him in a hug. Draco pushed her a little bit away. "On one condition."

"What?"

"Give me that prescription. And the pills."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Give them and you'll see."

Hermione took the bottle out of her purse. "But—I" She didn't get a chance to finish as Draco wrenched the bottle from her hand.

"Don't go to that psychiatrist anymore, do you hear?"

Hermione sat down. "Malfoy, you know my parents want me to go."

"Then lie to them. You won't go there anymore. He keeps prescribing you these, you take them, become awfully happy, and when it wears off..." Draco grabbed her shoulders. "Look at me. You don't need them."

"Look who's talking?" Hermione commented sarcastically.

"Well, yes. You don't want to be like me."

Hermione shook her head. "I already am."

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. "I know."

* * *

Ron hovered between the dreaming world and the one he wanted so much to be away from. He'd tried hard to block out the light, but still, a small beam had pushed its way through the darkness. The thought registered somewhere in his brain. He wished it hadn't. He wished he were brain-dead. He wished a lot of things. But, mostly he wished for something he could not have. Something he could never have back—a friend.

Hatred would have consumed him if he had had enough energy left to fuel it.

The knock on the door echoed through his dulled senses, he barely managed to acknowledge it before all interest was lost.

The knocker however, wasn't brain-dead, and cared enough to continue knocking. But no answer came.

Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall forward onto the door. "Ron!" he sighed. "Come on out of there. You've been in there for a week. Come on!" Harry pounded on the door, cursing at his friend. Ron had locked the door with magic, a spell he'd learned at his job—and one Harry couldn't counter. "Damn it, Ron! Come out!"

Ron closed his eyes. Everyone had left him. His wife, his daughter, his family, his friends…

A tear slipped from the corner of his eyes. Everyone had left him—just as they had left Hermione.

Ron wanted to punch something.

It wasn't fair.

Nothing was fair.

* * *

Harry slumped against the door, taking out the necklace he never left without. The simple silver chain was delicately crafted and the locket slid silently along the length. He ran his hand over the simple door-like design of the locket. It looked like a window—a window to the soul. He opened the silver clasp that kept it closed and looked at the almost endless mirage of delicate silver webbing—empty now as the magic they had held was gone.

Gone.

So many things were gone.

Never to be seen again.

Broken.

Not everything can be fixed. Sometimes you stay broken. And broken lives lead to bitter souls and bitter souls to dead ones.

Harry ran a finger over the smooth edge. The silver strands were like DNA. He remembered from his days at Hogwarts. They were unique, just as life was. In fact, the webs were living…at one time.

Harry shook his head. His thoughts were confused, his brain cluttered. His heart and head at war—his body rejecting both.

What would Hermione have done? Harry closed his eyes. He wouldn't let himself cry again. There was a way to figure this all out. And he was determined to prove Dean wrong and the rest of the wizarding world who had just swallowed the fact that the smartest witch of the age had killed herself. No, he would prove them all wrong. He had to take steps. He had to think small. He had to be like Hermione.

The library.

Harry stood, knocking softly on Ron's door once more. "Ron?"

There was no answer.

Harry left…and didn't think to look back.

* * *

Ginny couldn't get out of bed. She hated herself so much. She was horrible. She'd deceived a friend, held a grudge, and felt hatred—for a reason so pathetic, so childish. Taking a deep breath Ginny tried to push the thoughts from her head. She tried and failed. Hermione was all she could think about. All the memories where they had laughed and smiled and dreamed together—all that time, Ginny hadn't been sincere. She'd had it in for Hermione…

She was horrible.

Ginny got up, laying down hurt. Her chest was full of heavy bricks and more were being added. Prolonging the suffering, the pain, and the punishment.

"Hermione?" Ginny tapped the woman on the shoulder.

Hermione jumped. "Oh, Ginny!" Hermione's eyes dashed around the store quickly. "You scared me."

Ginny followed Hermione's gaze. "You here with someone?"

"No. No, all alone." Hermione fidgeted, then smiled. "Like always."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'd come out with me every once in a while I could solve that."

"I don't want to be set up, Ginny."

Ginny waved her hand. "Of course you do."

Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, I really don't want another blind date. Okay? I'm happy with who I have."

Jackpot, Ginny thought. "And who would that be?"

Now it was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes even as her heart raced at the mistake she'd made. "Gin, come on, it's me. I meant what, not who." Ginny's eyebrows rose. "So you don't believe me?" Hermione threw up her hands. "I give up. Believe what you will. I have to go. See you later."

"I don't have to. I know." Ginny grumbled as Hermione walked away. Ginny watched her with narrowed eyes. Something was odd. Hermione looked nice. She wasn't wearing the usual black suit and skirt but a simple lavender sundress—and sandals. Ginny bit her lip and made a split second decision. It was about time to go undercover.

She followed Hermione down the street. Hermione bobbed and weaved around stalls, pausing sometimes to look. Ginny watched as she headed down to the insanely expensive end of the street. There, all the best shops and stores and restaurants were. Ginny watched Hermione enter an exclusive area, watched her laugh with the guard, and watched her disappear through the golden doors.

Shaking her head Ginny left. Why should she care anyway?

And she hadn't. Ginny had been sure Hermione and Harry were seeing each other, she hadn't cared to see proof. She just let herself believe it. And in the end, it lost her a friend. She'd done everything she could to push Hermione away, to make her miserable, all while under the guise of a friend.

"I'm despicable." Ginny moaned.

"No, you're not."

Ginny turned abruptly turned. "Harry."

"I want to apologize. I meant what I said, but I could have probably said it nicer. The thing is…" Harry trailed off, but the fact remained that he needed Ginny's help. He wasn't sure if he was ready or even wanted to forgive her—but he needed her. And that was just how life went. "Okay. Here it is. Ginny, I know you've liked me for…a very long time. You made it uncomfortably obvious. I just never felt that way about you, I cared for you, yes, you're my friend. And I know that you're under a lot of stress and I know you blame yourself for what's going on—but you want to push it off, push the blame elsewhere. All of that is acceptable to a point. But you owe it to yourself, and to Hermione to figure out what really happened. I don't believe any one of us is blameless. We all had a role in Hermione's life. We all had an effect on her. Now, you're going to push aside whatever feelings of guilt or self-pity you are feeling—just as I am, and we are going to figure this out."

Ginny sat down. "Harry…" She looked up at his stern face. "Okay. Okay." She repeated to reassure herself. Hanging her head she bit her lip and closed her eyes. "I don't want to be broken anymore."

Harry stood there and looked at her hunched figure. He nodded to himself and left.


	12. Silence Part 2

**Ugly**

**Silence**

**Part Two**

* * *

Friendships are the hardest things—the very hardest. Because, sometimes there are things you can't say, can't tell…can't feel.

Their opinions matter so much. You want them to know that you wanted to go, you wanted to be there. You couldn't.

But that didn't matter. Because somewhere along the line.

Somewhere, sometime…they lost sight of you.

You became invisible.

They left you behind.

It doesn't take long for them to replace you, to see how their life can be, and then leave you, leave you all alone.

Dare you try to talk to them; you might as well juggle fire. They don't even know you anymore.

Hermione sat between Harry and Ron, the neatly folded napkins and lit candles gave the place a prim yet soft glow. Across from them sat Ginny and Sean and others whom she recognized, but whose names she couldn't remember.

"Oh Merlin!" Cried one of the nameless faces. "I couldn't believe that, Ron, do you remember…" the voice trailed off in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. "Remember that time?"

Ron, laughing as well, nodded enthusiastically. "Man, I thought mum was going to bust me so bad. We should do that again."

"And that time we tried to turn old Errol into a cake cause we were hungry?"

Ginny shook her head. "What you guys would do for food. It's pathetic."

Two of the nameless people turned to Ginny accusingly. "I do believe oh miss-better-than-us that you were the one who suggested it in the first place!"

Ginny lifted her glass, grinning. "You'd be right."

The table erupted in laughter.

Hermione hunched her shoulders; absently staring at the glass of untouched wine Harry had ordered her.

"What about that time Harry and you and Penn got up and danced the Macarena? You guys were so bad; I thought we'd get kicked out of the club! Do you remember that Hermione? Merlin, they were awful."

Hermione looked up. "No. I don't remember. Excuse me." Scooting out, she excused herself, walking around the corner and out of sight. She took a huge breath and backed up to a wall, leaning against it heavily. Hermione sighed, letting her head rest on the wall, she gazed at the ceiling, wishing for once that her life was different. That she'd done things other than study, other than…

A loud fit of laughter came from the table she'd just left. Hermione closed her eyes against the tears.

The glittering tear traced her closed eye, leaving droplets hanging on her lashes.

"Doesn't look to me like this is a place to cry."

Hermione opened her eyes, the sparkling teardrops glinting in the darkly lit hall. "Why is it always you?"

Draco shifted his blond hair from his face. "Because I've always been here."

Hermione shook her head. She wiped at the wet along her eyes, taking deep breaths as she heard more stories being told behind her. Without her. Always without her.

Draco watched her eyes fill with hurt, harden with pain. Silently he held his hand out to her. She eyed his pale hand as if it were a viper, waiting, waiting to strike. Another loud blast of laughter behind her seemed to make up her mind. Viper or not, he was there.

* * *

Harry rolled over as the beam of light from the now open window hit his eyes. "What the hell is your problem?"

Ginny ignored him, tossing clothes at him before exiting the room. Harry groaned. "Stupid idiot."

"I heard that." Ginny called from outside. "Get your ass dressed and get going. You force me to move, I'm going to force you right back."

Harry pulled the shirt over his head and sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now leave me alone."

"Sorry, _honey._ No can do."

"You are annoying."

"And you're ready to go."

Harry yawned. "Not until I've had my coffee."

Ginny grinned. "Already got a pot brewed. Come on downstairs.

Harry took the coffee she handed him and poured in the cream he preferred. Ginny sat across from him, a strange look on her face.

Stirring the coffee Harry looked up. "What?"

Ginny jumped. "Oh, nothing."

Harry shook his head and grimaced.

Making up her mind, Ginny sighed. "You two were so much alike."

Harry sipped the coffee. "What do you mean?"

"It's just little things I guess. She wouldn't even consider leaving before having her coffee…with cream."

Harry grimaced again. "Well, that's pretty much all caffeine addicts."

Ginny sighed. "Whatever you say."

Harry stirred the coffee again. "Hey, Ginny?"

Ginny looked up. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember that time a bunch of us went to Caverns, for dinner?"

Ginny nodded, grinning. "Yeah, I do. That was fun." And you were drunk enough to kiss me. "Why do you ask?"

"I dreamed about it last night. I just, was wondering…it's nothing."

"No, what?"

"Who was all there? Do you remember?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed in thought. "Well, you, me, Ron, Hermione, Sean, Penn, Helen, Kit and I think Siena." She thought for a second. "Yeah, I think that's all."

"What happened to Hermione?"

Ginny shook her head. "What do you mean?"

"She excused herself. And never came back."

Ginny thought, her face falling. "Merlin, you're right." Ginny rubbed her face. "You want to know something, Harry?" Harry nodded. "The more I remember the little things I missed—that we missed…the more I hate myself."

Harry nodded, starring at the swirling black and white liquid. "Yeah." Harry downed the last of the coffee. "Yeah." He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

They stayed like that for a time. Both of them thinking, both of them remembering. Both of them hating what they'd become. Both of them hating the hating.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy poured over the morning paper while keeping one eye on his very nervous guest. Setting the paper down, folding it neatly he looked up. "Any news?"

The man tried not to shake. "Ye—yes sir."

"Well get it out man, I haven't all day to listen to your babble."

"Sir, it's just that. We, um…" The man bowed his head. "You're not going to like it, sir."

Lucius leaned back in his chair. "There's little I do like, tell me."

The man took a deep breath and hoped that no unforgivable curses were to be performed.

* * *

Harry examined the necklace again. "What exactly do you remember about these?"

Ginny ran her hand over the chain. "Lots actually. This particular promise necklace is…" she paused, looking at the modest but intricate carvings. "Very expensive. Which also means that the bond was strong. The promise I mean. Do you understand?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm a guy, Ginny."

"Not all of you are dumb. But okay. What I mean is that because of the obvious value of the promise necklace, the wearers were serious."

"Like relationship wise?"

Ginny nodded. "Sometimes. You see, it could also be good friends. But mainly, yes, it's for couples."

"What kinds of promises are made?"

"Everything under the moon. And the cool thing about these is that you can't go back on your word."

Harry sighed. "And what kind would Hermione make?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know Harry. I really don't know."

* * *

"Where are we going?" Hermione's hand was still clasped tightly in Malfoy's. It was nice. She liked the feel of his hand, warm and protecting as it pulled her down the street.

"I'm not sure." Draco glanced at her. "Are you cold?" A hint of winter stirred the air.

Hermione nodded and Draco stopped, taking off his coat and giving it to her. "Here."

"Thanks."

The sidewalk they walked on soon turned to a gravel path as they entered a park. The trees rustled quietly and the song of a whippoorwill poured out of the darkness. The sky was crystal clear; the impurities reeked by man washed away by the cold, leaving the stars to shine with all their strength.

"Why did you go out with them tonight?" Draco asked as they stood beside a pond, the moons reflection lighting their faces.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I want…"

"What? What do you want?"

Hermione's chest grew heavy. "I want people to like me. I want them to understand me, and love me, and be with me. I want to be able to share stories, and laugh, and…and…just be happy."

Draco stiffened next to her. "Anything else?"

"I want, it's stupid, but I want someone. Someone to be with me."

"You know…"

Hermione laughed. "No, I usually don't know."

Draco managed a small smile. "You know, I want that, too."

"You want that, too." Hermione repeated softly.

"I want someone who understands me, understands that I can be an asshole, that I am most of the time. I want someone who…loves me, faults and all."

Hermione watched ripples cross the silver lake to hit the dark shore.

"You'll find someone."

Draco smirked. "Funny, I thought I had."

Hermione's head jerked up. "Me?"

"No. Your evil twin."

"Oh her, well, yeah, she's pretty cool."

Draco grinned, taking Hermione's hand. "Come home with me."

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Draco glanced at the ground. "Can I go home with you?"

Hermione almost had a heart attack. "Malfoy?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you been sexually deprived lately or something?"

Draco laughed. "Not at all, Granger."

"Okay. Because you sound a little desperate."

All laughter faded from Draco's face and his voice was serious. "I wasn't joking. And I didn't mean to imply that all I wanted was sex."

"Way to be blunt."

"You started it."

Hermione sighed. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"There you go. I win."

Hermione started walking. "Whatever."

"So…your place or mine?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand you."

"That's okay. Not many people do."

Hermione's eyebrow rose. "Okay, okay, no one does. But hey, that's part of my charm."

"What charm."

"Ouch, that hurt." Draco wrapped his arm around her waist. "See, I was in a very bad mood, then I saw you at the restaurant and now…"

"And now your wishing you hadn't come up to me."

"Somehow, you make me feel better. Happy." Draco whispered softly. "You're beautiful, Hermione."

"Faults and all?"

"Faults and all."


	13. Happiness

**Ugly**

**Happiness**

**Part One**

* * *

Lucius Malfoy tapped his fingers rhythmically as he pondered the still sealed envelope on his desk.

The fire crackled, casting orange tongues of spite—forever reaching for the one they hated. Lucius leaned back in his chair.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The envelope was black, and sealed with the Malfoy crest.

Addressed to Lucius…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

…from his son.

In scarlet ink that looked like blood in the firelight, was Draco's spiked handwriting—the envelope might contain nothing, or may contain everything. Lucius's eyes narrowed as he stared.

But that was all he did.

* * *

Harry and Ginny pulled into the parking lot.

"Why would a wizarding shop be in the middle of a muggle shopping center?" Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not sure. But this is the only jewelry store I know of that sells wizard jewelry. I found it once, during the summer. But it's a good starting point."

The two walked through the throng of people.

"Wow. I don't think I've seen this many people packed into one place—ever." Ginny exclaimed as they rode the escalator up to the second floor.

Harry looked around. "This is nothing. We're not even near a holiday. Come back then, and you'd be surprised by how many people will be here."

They walked past stores Harry knew, but were new to Ginny.

"What in Merlin's name is Hot Topic?" Ginny paused by the storefront. "That looks…dark." She whispered to Harry, who couldn't help but laugh.

"I bet you a million to one that if Malfoy wasn't a wizard, Malfoy would shop here."

Ginny looked up. "So it's a _dark_ store?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. It's just…different." Harry didn't need to explain as Ginny saw a store window that was much different from Hot Topic. The frilly, bright colors were more attuned to Ginny than the dark reds and blues. Harry glanced back, wondering briefly if Hermione would have found that store more to her taste than the one a bubbling Ginny was now entering.

"Ginny, we're kind of on a mission." Harry called from outside the store.

Ginny waved him away. "There's always time for shopping."

Harry shook his head and sat down on a bench, his foot tapping impatiently.

Ginny perused the store, quickly finding clothing she liked, heaping them into her arms.

She swung around in a shopping frenzy—stopping dead in her tracks.

The dress was completely out of place in the store of bright pastels and frills.

The dress was oddly familiar—and Ginny knew exactly where she'd seen it before.

* * *

Hermione walked into the bathroom. "Did you get my message the other day. You were out of the office, I left it with your assistant."

Ginny shook her head, even though Hermione couldn't see her. "No. What was it?"

"Nothing important." Hermione's voice echoed from the bathroom.

Ginny walked to the closet. "You got any party clothes in here?" She asked, opening the folded doors. The clothing inside was neatly hung.

"I don't think so." Hermione answered.

Ginny observed the closet, looking through the clothes. Winter shirts were on the top, spring and summer tops were on the bottom rung. Suits were folded and hung over hangers in the middle and at the end was one dress.

"I thought we were just going to watch movies. Do you want to go out?" Hermione came back into the room. "There's nothing party worthy in there."

Ginny grinned. "You sure?"

Hermione nodded, braiding her hair back.

Ginny brought out the dress. It was floor length, black, with a red, beaded poppy. "So what do you call this?"

Hermione turned around, her eyes growing wide. "That was a practical joke." She said frostily. "By a complete idiot." She grabbed the dress from Ginny, shaking her head.

Ginny could only grin. "Who…" she said slowly. "Is this _person_?"

Hermione only shook her head.

"Oh come on, Hermione!" Ginny pleaded. "Please tell me."

Hermione shook her head again.

"Did you at least wear it?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, I wore it. Once."

Ginny watched Hermione's eyes soften while she remembered…whatever it was she was remembering.

"Are you going to tell me?"

Hermione grinned. "Not in this lifetime."

* * *

Ginny flipped the tag on the dress over. It was obvious that it didn't belong in this store. Ginny felt her heart jump as she caught site of the price. "No way." She shook her head and looked again. She hadn't been imagining it.

Dropping the clothes, all interest in them lost, Ginny walked, glassy eyed from the store.

Harry got up. "You didn't buy anything?"

Ginny shook her head.

"Ginny, what's wrong?"

Ginny closed her eyes, rubbing them gently. "Another confusing thing."

"About Hermione?"

"Yeah. It's…stupid really."

"Are you going to tell me?"  
Ginny looked behind her, back into the store. The dress was still there. It was still the same. "Harry, don't take this the wrong way. But did you ever buy Hermione a dress?"

"I don't think so. No, I bought her a sweater once…a red one."

"Okay, well, it's just I saw a dress in Hermione's closet once, and I just saw it again. The problem is."

She paused.

Harry waited.

And waited.

"Okay, so what exactly is the problem?" He asked, finally.

"The dress cost over a thousand dollars."

"Well, Hermione wouldn't buy something that expensive."

"My point exactly."

Harry sighed. "It's a guy…a guy with money."

Ginny nodded. "The only question left is who?"

"Only one way to find out." Harry grabbed Ginny's hand and pulled her further down the stretch and into a dimly lit jewelry store.

"Mr. Potter!" cried the tiny woman from behind the counter. "It's good to see you again. My have you grown." The woman gave Harry an informal hug. "And you've brought a pretty young lady with you." She elbowed Harry in the ribs. "For an engagement ring, right? That's why you've come? Eh?"

Harry blushed. "No. I'm sorry. No engagement. Err…this is Ginny. A friend." He added quickly.

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Friend you say?" she turned to Ginny. "I'm sure you're working to up yourself aren't you?"

Ginny took a step back from the woman, but smiled.

Harry put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to help us with something."

"Well…if you're sure you don't want to look at our rings…" Ginny and Harry both shook their heads. "Okay, okay!" the woman through up her arms. "What can I help you with today, Mr. Potter?"

Ginny pulled out the locket, handing it to Harry.

Harry in turn handed it to the woman.

"A promise necklace you bring me. I see, now what do you want with it?" The woman opened the locket.

"We were wondering if you sold ones like these, or if there is anything you can tell us."

"Expensive."

"Excuse me?" Harry asked.

The woman looked up. "Very expensive. Too expensive, none of my customers have this much money. I wouldn't carrie anything like this."

"Well that tells us a lot. Is there anything else?"

"The promise made was…I wonder how to say this…a serious promise? Yes, very serious. Not to be taken lightly. Hmm…I'm sorry. I can't tell you more. The promise has been fullfilled." She handed the necklace back to Harry.

"Would you know anyone sells these?" Ginny asked.

The woman nodded. "Let me write them down for you."

* * *

Hermione looked over her shoulder as she read on the couch. "I thought I heard you."

"You have good ears. I thought I was being rather quiet. Considering." Draco came over, sitting on the arm of the chair. "So what's the book of the moment?"

Hermione lifted the book for him to see. "You've got to be kidding me. You had that book memorized by…our second year at Hogwarts?"

Hermione shrugged, and smiled softly. "It's a good book. Did you ever read it?"

"No. All I had to do was listen really close while you were reprimanding Potter or Weasley so I didn't need to."

Hermione shook her head, shutting the book and laying it aside. "So what did you bring?"

"First," Draco held up a finger. "Let me state that this is the absolute _last_ time that I go grocery shopping for you. Got it?"

Hermione nodded.

"And second, I never want to go into a muggle video store again. Can you say confusing?"

"Nope." Hermione stood, taking the bags he held away from him. She went to the kitchen. "So…." She said after she examined the contents. "That is the last time I send you grocery shopping."

Draco sat down, "Glad we're in agreement."

Hermione shook her head as she pulled out the box of fat free, sugar free, sodium free, carb free, and taste free cereal. "You expect me to eat this?" she asked, holding it away from her.

Draco shrugged. "It says "HEALTHY" in big bold letters. I thought you'd appreciate eating something hale and hearty."

Hermione grimaced and set the box down. "There's a difference between healthy food and wood chips."

"Really?"

Hermione shook her head, laughing. She pulled another item out of the bag. "What is this?"

Draco's eyes narrowed as he considered what might have been—in another lifetime—a rectangular box. "I'm not quite sure what that is." He admitted. "But I'm sure it's good for you."

Hermione began to grumble. "I'm hungry you know." Picking up what could have been a stalk of celery she continued. "And _this_ is not going to cure my hunger."

Draco grinned. "That's why…" he took out his wand and said a little spell. "I brought pizza!"

* * *

Ginny sat alone in her apartment…wondering.

Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling…wondering.

Ron was asleep…forgotten.

Lucius paced his study…never taking his eyes off the envelope…never sleeping. Only pacing.

And only the dead were happy.


	14. Happiness Part 2

**Ugly**

**Happiness**

**Part II**

* * *

The world is bright and full of splendor. The sun shines so intense that everything is transformed; long shadows are cast across seas of swaying greens and gleaming golds. Wind, warm and full of scent, rustles through the dry leaves and gently shakes the wind chimes outside Hermione's kitchen window.

She pushed the window open; the tinkling chimes echo the haunting time bomb of the old grandfather clock in the hallway. Closing her eyes, Hermione let the warm evening air brush her face, sweeping her hair back and gently erasing the worry lines away.

"You are beautiful."

Hermione smiled, knowing he couldn't see her face. "How do you know that?"

Draco wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder. "Because I see the real you." He whispered, hugging her close. "Because I love you."

Hermione brushed her hand across his and he caught it—entwining their fingers. Her other hand fingered the locket around her neck, a single tear running down her cheek. "I love you, too."

* * *

Ron could hear the phone ringing in the background of his mind.

He didn't care.

What did he have left to care about?

You were supposed to be there for those who needed you—and for those who didn't.

He'd failed.

He'd always been looking elsewhere.

Instead of being there for Hermione…

He'd been concerned with making money.

Instead of being there for Hermione…

He'd been selfishly in love.

The phone stopped ringing.

Ron thanked whatever higher power was in control of his life—then he cursed it.

Why?

Why?

There was no reason for the madness of life.

There was no reason for all the hurt that went on.

No wonder Hermione chose death, Ron mused. A sickened smile crossed his slackened face.

Comfort found only in death.

He was pathetic. Hermione hadn't been suicidal.

"Now I sound like Harry." Ron felt hatred fill the empty pit that was his heart. He let it consume him. He let it eat him…eat him whole.

* * *

"Ron!"

Ron looked up from the stack of paperwork, his quill poised. "Hermione." Ron stood, walking over to give his friend a hug. "Isn't this a pleasant surprise? You haven't visited me in ages, what is the special occasion?" He released her, stepping back.

She looked…Ron couldn't define it. She was still skinny, still wearing that old green coat, her hair was still pulled back into a no-nonsense bun.

No—the change wasn't in Hermione's body.

It was her eyes, her face, and her smile. She looked, Ron realized, happy. It was then that he realized she hadn't looked that way in a long, long time.

Hermione grinned, her eyes bright and youthful. "I was just passing by and I thought why not? And…" Hermione observed the poorly lit office and cluttered desk. "I thought you could use a break."

"You got that right." Ron nodded. "Would you like to go out for coffee—tea?" he corrected remembering Hermione's preference for tea after her morning cup of coffee.

"Yes, thank you."

"Let me grab my coat."

The café was crowded, snug and warm. Ron and Hermione fought their way over to one of the last tables.

"Burr. It's getting chilly." Hermione commented.

Ron nodded. "That it is. That it is." He pulled off his gloves. "So…Hermione…what have you been up to lately. I hardly see you."

Hermione's smile faded. "I've just been bogged down with work is all."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You sure work is all that's consuming your time?" he asked.

Hermione laughed. "You've always been the joker, Ron."

"Hey, what can I say, Fred and George rubbed off on me."

"Not too much, though."

"Thank Merlin for small favors."

They both laughed.

"But seriously, Hermione—don't you think it's time to maybe get yourself a man?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment. "Oh…well…"

Ron watched as a deep blush crossed over Hermione's ivory face.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"Okay, so I didn't know. But, Hermione, if you got someone…" He waited.

Hermione finally looked up. "I do have someone."

Ron nodded. "I just wonder why you don't tell me, or Harry, or even Ginny. Cause I think we'd all know if you'd told Ginny."

"Yeah." Hermione shook her head. "You'd know if I'd said something to Ginny."

"So?" Ron prompted.

Hermione bit her lip. "I…I don't know if you or Harry…would." She rolled her eyes. "Approve of him."

Ron frowned. "He doesn't…mistreat you, does he?"

"No! No. Oh, don't even say that. He's not like that. He's sweet and kind, and he…he's not exactly what I had in mind—but I think I love him."

Ron smiled; reaching across the table he took Hermione's hand, patting it gently. "I'm happy for you. And, I don't know why you want to keep this relationship secret but, you are all grown up, Hermione." Hermione grinned. "And Harry and I, we're your friends, we can't tell you what to do…much to our disappointment, but we'll back you up. You know that right?"

"Thanks, Ron." Hermione let out her breath. "Thanks a lot."

"Ready to order?" The waitress had finally worked her way over to their table.

"Tea, please." They said in unison, looking at each other they smiled those big silly smiles and laughed.

* * *

"We've checked two shops already…Harry, can't we just call it a day?" Ginny yawned.

Harry sighed. "Fine." He turned around and got back into the car. "I'll just take you home."

Now it was Ginny who sighed.

"You know I like you, Harry. Why…why don't you like me back?"

Harry slowed the car. "I want to know why you have this fixation on me, I have never given you _any_ indication that I was even the slightest bit interested in you."

Ginny flushed with anger. "Damn it, you saved my life, you even _kissed_ me, but you were too slobbering drunk to remember that!"

"Wow! One mistake on my part…or rather two, and you have this nagging need to hang all over me and make Hermione's life miserable because you thought I gave her more attention than you—or maybe you thought you deserved more, who knows? But you want to know something? Hermione was my friend, my best friend. She never tried to deceive people—like you do. She never hurt people—like you do. She was nothing like you and you want to know something else? I have never even thought of you as a friend. You're Ron's little sister. And Ginny, that's all you'll ever be."

"I told you I was sorry! I can't undo the past, Harry! I can't!"

"You have never tried to be good to anyone. You've always been selfish—I can't like someone who's so centered on something that she hurts everyone who gets in her way."

Ginny turned, releasing the seatbelt so that she could twist her body to face Harry. "You never gave me a chance! As you said, I'm just Ron's little sister! You might have liked me if you'd taken your head out of your ass and looked around!"

Harry shook his head. "You don't get it. You never get it! Things like this are not one sided! Just because you like me doesn't mean I have to do anything." He turned to her. "Get this straight, I will never like you."

Ginny couldn't see through the rage of her tears, but she lashed out, striking Harry.

He jerked the wheel, sliding across the road.

Ginny screamed as the headlights blinded her. Then there was nothing.

* * *

"Do you remember the ball?" Draco asked as he rubbed Hermione's arm, they were sitting in his own little piece of the world. Or not so little.

"You mean, that pathetic excuse of a dance." Hermione corrected.

"Oh come on, I told you that most purebloods have a stick up their ass."

"Most?"

"Okay, all, present company included."

Hermione laughed, snuggling up beside Draco. "Not all the time…but most of the time."

Draco grinned. "You come into my house and you insult me…didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Hermione shrugged. "Would you be willing to update my lessons?"

Draco shook his head. "That wouldn't be you. So, no."

Hermione smiled. "Good. I don't like acting like…something else."

"I like you just the way you are."

Hermione sighed. "At least someone does." She closed her eyes as sleep tugged at her conscious.

Draco ran his hand over her hair, moving so that she could lean comfortably against him. "Sleep." He murmured as she tried to sit up.

He saw a small smile play across her lips before she fell asleep. Draco leaned back; he couldn't imagine a time in his life when he'd felt so complete.

He ran his fingers over the locket around Hermione's neck, and touched the one around his own…maybe it had been a mistake.

* * *

Ron was out of bed for the first time in a week, he showered and dressed and answered that damn ringing phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Ronald Weasley?"

"Speaking."

"I am calling from Delmont hospital. Mr. Weasley, we have a Mr. Harry Potter and a Ms. Ginny Weasley who have been admitted, you are listed as a person to contact in an emergency, is this true?"

Ron gripped the phone tightly. "Yes. What's happened?"

"There was an auto accident. Mr. Potter and Ms. Weasley have been admitted to the hospital."

"What?"

"Sir, we need you to come down to the hospital and fill out papers for the patients."

Ron shook his head. "No, no, no. How did this happen?"

"I don't know the answer to that, sir, but if you come down to the hospital, the officers may be able to answer your questions."

"I'll be right there."

Ron entered the hospital through swinging doors, they closed with a thump behind him. Walking up the receptionist he enquired as to the whereabouts of his friend and sister.

"Third floor."

The elevator was old and creaky, Ron's heart raced as he neared the third floor. This couldn't be happening.

The doors opened and he rushed out.

"Sir, may I help you?"

"I—I need to know what happened to them!" Ron tried to keep his breathing under control. "They—they were in an accident."

The nurse pointed to a police officer down the hall. "He might be able to answer your questions."

Ron mumbled a thank you and hurried down the hallway.

"Mr. Weasley?" The officer asked.

"Yes. What happened, are they okay? My sister, is she okay?"

The policeman waited for Ron to quiet. "Your sister, Ms. Weasley, will be fine. It's the other one, a Mr. Potter, who—" the officer looked away. "He took the worst of it."

Ron shook his head, blinking. "How…how did this happen?"

The officer looked behind him where Ginny Weasley was laying, her eyes open but unseeing. "It seems that there was a fight and your sister, we believe that she is the cause of the accident."

Ron took a deep breath. "Can I talk to her?"

The officer shook his head. "She hasn't been lucid. We've sent for the hospital psychiatrist."

"And…and Harry?"

"He's still in surgery."

Ron dropped down into one of the chairs that lined the wall and stared at the ground.

That was all he could do.

* * *

Lucius lifted the envelope off his desk, weighing it in his hands. His son did nothing but lie, deceive. He tossed the envelope into the fire. The flames licked it, cleaning it of deceit and burning away the lies.

Ignorance, Lucius decided was preferable, but truth would be sought through other channels—and it would be the truth as Lucius Malfoy saw it.


	15. Over

**Ugly**

**Over**

**Part One**

* * *

Things end. It can't be helped—relationships, friendships…life. It all ends, eventually.

It happens.

And it's over.

You can't live in the past, you can't live in the present, you can't look to the future—you have no future.

Harry couldn't move—his whole body cursed his very existence. The pain shooting through his veins replaced his spilled blood with fire. His scar burned with fever—with hate. His mind spun and tore at his memories, making him relive moments that time let him forget—the hate, the blood, the screams, the lost friends.

Hate overwhelmed him. All these memories, these feelings, they'd been carefully hidden away…

But Ginny had changed all that.

Ginny had taken his peace away.

Just as she'd taken away the only women he'd ever had a normal relationship with.

Hermione. Harry had loved her as he would a sister, as he would a friend, as he would his own child.

He'd let her die.

Ginny had killed her.

He'd let her.

Hell hath a human face…. where had he heard that?

He remembered it faintly as the drugs kicked in.

He hadn't been aware of the nurse who had been watching him. Watching him writher in his self-made misery—his own piece of hell.

She'd taken pity on the helpless man—injecting kindness via the morphine, letting it wind through his bloodstream. Letting it take the pain away…

But sleep only made way for the nightmares.

Nightmares that were memories—horrid on their own—blown to grotesque proportions as his tortured conscience took hold of them.

* * *

Ginny had stumbled into the room, her red hair in a messy ponytail, her clothes askew.

"Ginny?" Hermione had rushed over, taking her friend by the arm—steadying her. "Are you drunk?"

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ginny replied scathingly. "This is _Harry's_ house. Not yourrr's." Her speech slurred.

"Ginny." Harry looked around the corner. "What are you doing here?"

Ginny pushed away Hermione's helping hand, Harry's eyes narrowing. She was obviously plastered.

"I'm here to see you, honey." She tottered into Hermione who caught her unstable friend.

"Hands off. I can do it." Ginny shoved Hermione away. "You always here. Why are you always here?" She asked, her eyes unfocused as she turned to Hermione.

"Um…" Hermione backed away from Ginny.

Harry stepped forward, grabbing Ginny by the collar of her coat. "I invited her over for dinner. You have a problem with that?"

Ginny's eyes rolled as she was jerked about, she finally managed to focus on Harry and she ripped her coat from his grasp. "You didn't invite me for dinner." She said huffily.

Harry nodded. "Quite obviously."

"Why the fuck you invite her?" Ginny asked, her voice hitting a high point, her arm gesturing in the direction of Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "You're drunk."

"I very well know what I am and I know what I am not and I am not drunk." Ginny pointed her finger at Harry.

Harry ran his eyes up and down her form.

"Like what you see, Harry?"

Harry felt sick. "I beg to differ, Ginny. You are drunk, and no…"

Ginny snickered. "And what. You prefer that?"

Hermione was nervously fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. She looked up, shocked at Ginny's words.

"Ginny! Harry and I are friends. I think maybe I should take you home."

She held out her hand to Ginny, who spun around, her eyes dark, before she turned back to Harry. Hermione withdrew her hand.

"She can't get a guy. No guy would like her. All she does is work and sleep. How boring is that? I…" Ginny ran her hand down Harry's arm…missing his look of disgust. "I know how to have fun. Hermione there, she'll never know how to please a guy."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Ginny!" He looked up at Hermione in time to see the anger overcome her face—a very rare scene—before she stalked over to Ginny, turned her, and let her hand fly.

"Take it back!" Hermione screamed.

Ginny slapped back. "It's true! You're so freaking pathetic Hermione." Ginny managed before Hermione smacked her again.

Tears ran down Hermione's face. "He loves me!" she screamed as Ginny launched herself at her.

"No one could _ever _love you!" Ginny yanked at Hermione's hair. "Harry can never love you!"

Harry tried to put himself between the two—unsure what the other was yelling. He caught his name…but that was it.

"Ginny. Stop it!"

For his trouble, he earned a hard slap across his cheek. But the girls fell apart, Hermione crying…Ginny too drunk to do anything but seethe.

"Pathetic." Ginny hissed as she stumbled to the door, slamming it behind her.

"Hermione?" Harry knelt beside his friend, who was sobbing now, rocking back and forth.

"Please." Hermione sobbed. "Take me home."

Harry picked her up, and apparated to her apartment. He laid her down on the couch. "I'm sorry." He said, stroking her hair.

Hermione smiled up at him through his tears. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry bent down, kissing her head. He looked up, catching site of a robe lying over the arm of a chair.

"Hermione?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Is that your robe?"

Hermione glanced over and swallowed. "Uh, no, no it's not." She wiped her tears away and smiled.

* * *

Harry rolled over, his pain no more than a stinging numbness that coursed through his body. His heartbeat slowed as more drugs saturated his bloodstream…taking it all away—killing the pain, painkillers…supposedly humane…supposedly.

His scar burned an acid green—the ache of it all reaching out to his heart, squeezing. He ran towards the home, he knew where it was. It was three streets over and four houses down. He ran, his body unnaturally light as he ran up the road—a road that was steadily becoming a hill. His head raced as he tried to see past the pain. He needed to get there, he needed to save them. He needed to stop it.

Harry turned and ran, the house had moved—they had moved. He remembered it now. The streets were foreign, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried to remain calm. He tried. Trying. Spinning. Spinning in circles. Where the hell was he?

The buildings curved toward him, blocking his way.

The door. He knew it was her door. He ran to it, his legs becoming useless with each step. Too heavy. Too tired.

"No." Harry cried as he watched the figures in the window.

"No." he whispered again as he watched one of them fall.

The door wouldn't open. The latch was melded to the door—his attempts to pry it futile. Harry could hear the screaming, the laughing, the cruel, heartless laughter.

Hate.

Hate filled his bones. He knew those screams—his mother's screams.

"Stop it!" He cried as he fell over his own body. The bones hollow, no longer taking his weight. "NO!" He reached towards his fallen mother—to his fallen friend. His mother's head turned to him, her hand reaching towards him—and he saw Hermione. Her eyes open and glassy, blood running a slow trail down her pale skin. He screamed.

Harry closed his eyes and felt the pain of death, the pain of life, the pain of growing up, the pain—his and those he loved. He felt their pain.

Slowly he opened his eyes. Watching Ginny as she stood over the body of his mother, over the body of Hermione. He saw himself where Ginny had stood. He saw Ron and Dean, and…Malfoy.

Harry felt his old hatred build in his chest as Malfoy turned to face him…

But there was no smirk.

There was no sadness on his face.

There was instead, a sagging of shoulder.

A face empty of emotion and eyes—open and glassy, dead.

Malfoy was dead.

Harry backed up against the wall—his body convulsing as Malfoy stared at him, lifeless. And in Draco Malfoy's lifeless eyes, he saw Hermione.

* * *

Ron ran down the hallway as the screaming began. He watched the nurses crowd into the room, none of them moving fast enough, they couldn't get there.

They couldn't get there in time as the blood came up…chocking blood.

He could hear the screaming—his own screaming.

"Get him out of here!"

Two nurses grabbed Ron as he tried to get to the bed.

"Nurse!"

One of the nurses looked up as a doctor came in. "Car crash, possible lung contusion, sever bruising."

The doctor looked at the patient's heart rate. "Cocktail—Aminophylline, Lasix and Soludelta Cortes injection. Get an O2 mask on her."

Ron watched as the head was tilted back as the figure fought to sit up, blood trickling out of the mouth, hacking coughs splattering the doctor and nurses.

Ron was pushed away.

"Sir. You have to stay out of the room. We need to have room to work." One of the nurses tried to calm him down.

"What…what can I do?" Ron asked in a panic as he tried to look over the nurses.

One of them laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. The only thing you can do is pray."

But all Ron could hear was the Doctor's shouts.

And the faint beeping of the life-support…as it faded.

"She's going into shock!"

That was the last thing Ron chose to hear as he turned—running…running away.

* * *

Ron wrapped his arms around himself as he rocked forward. The chilled air of November scratched at his face. He held his breath, trying to stem the misery.

"I don't want to live." He murmured, warm tears ran down his cheeks. "I don't want to." He moaned as he clasped his arms and rocked harder. "Why can't I just die?"

"I'm sure you have _some_ reason to stay here."

Ron looked up, staring into a face that had seen many years.

"You don't know that." Ron growled and turned away from the old man.

"Now son, I've seen much a thing in my life."

"I know." Ron took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bite at you."

The old man nodded. "It looks like you needed someone to take a chomp out of."

Ron nodded.

"You care to talk about it."

Ron watched as a young couple walked past. The woman wrapped protectively in the arms of the man. Beyond them there were friends, playing—undeterred by the cold weather as they ran and played and laughed.

The old man chuckled. "You can talk when you want."

Ron turned back to the man. He was heavily layered, but underneath that, looked frail as a sack of bones. His skin hung on his face and his hair was tufted and pepper gray.

"Should you be out here?" Ron asked, gesturing to the world.

The man nodded. "Probably not the wisest decision I've made." He coughed. "But…" he watched the people in the park. "I like to come and watch people when they're happy." He eyed Ron. "Usually they're happy—you on the other hand…"

"I…I've been having a rough time lately." The old man nodded. "I've made a lot of mistakes." Ron looked away. "Too many mistakes."

"You're young. You got your whole life to make up for 'em."

Ron shook his head. "That's hard when—"

"Son, you listen to me. Even when things appear hopeless, you have to realize that all barriers can be breached—that everything can be fixed."

Ron stared at his shoes. "I don't believe in…"

The old man shook his head. "I am not talking about religion here. You don't need faith in something else to help you out—you need faith in yourself. You have to believe you can."

"You don't understand." Ron muttered.

"You could tell me what I don't understand."

"That would take years."

"Well," The old man leaned back on the bench. "There's no one in this world waiting for me. Take all the time you need."

* * *

"Hermione?" Draco covered his mouth as he coughed again. His side ached. "You home?"

"Kitchen."

"What are you doing in here?"

Hermione looked up as Draco entered. "I'm sorry." She wiped the tears from her eyes, smiling up at him. "I…I—it's late."

Draco sat down next to her, his hand on his shoulder. "Why have you been crying?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, it was stupid."

"Was dinner good?"

Hermione scooted her chair back. "Actually. We never made it to dinner. But I'm sure it would have been fine. Harry isn't exactly handicapped when it comes to the kitchen."

Draco watched as she turned away from him—hiding behind the pretense that she needed to wash the lonely dish in her sink.

"Just lacking in other areas, eh?"

Hermione laughed. "You can be so evil."

Draco shrugged. "I suppose. So, why didn't you and Potter have your _friendly_ little dinner he had planned."

Hermione turned around, drying off her hands. "I hope you're not insinuating that the dinner was anything but friendly…" she eyed him as he contemplated. "You idiot, I told you that we're just friends!"

"Just checking." Draco mused. "You never know. It would be just like Potter to snatch you away from me."

"Oh please. The only two people in this universe who even think Harry and I like each other in that way are you and Ginny."

"Ginny?" Draco looked up, as Hermione's voice grew cold. "Was she the reason you guys didn't get to dinner?"

"Very observant aren't we?"

Draco leaned back. "Okay, I get it. Dropping the topic. But, let's just rehash this one last time—you told me once not to take my anger out on you, so please don't do the same to me, okay?"

Hermione shrugged, but she smiled. "Sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"Oh, well, thanks." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just what I wanted."

Draco walked over to her, his arms encircling her waist. "How 'bout, since you didn't get to eat dinner—I'll make something quickly." He kissed her neck. "Then we can just hang out here."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You weren't going to come over tonight…why did you change you're mind?"

"I missed you."

"Oh."

Draco laughed; his laugh filled her with warmth. "I'll make something." He let her go and turned towards the refrigerator.

"But…"

"Hermione. I _can_ cook."

"Oh."

"I can!"

"Well, I guess you're going to prove it then, aren't you?" she turned leaving him to dig his own grave.

"Yes I am!" he yelled after her. Then, turning to the stove, then the refrigerator, then the microwave and the oven. "Shit." After a quick game of which was less evil, he picked the stove and went to work.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy glared out at the snow-covered lawn. The snow was deep and pure—no child had disturbed its peaceful rest. "Pure." Lucius spat the word out, a curse, and turned away from the window.

He _hated_ winter, he hated snow…hated it because Draco had loved. It hadn't taken Lucius long to figure out his son was—peculiar, and though he'd tried to smash and rip and tear those peculiar traits from his son….

Lucius bowed his head. He'd done everything to make sure his son came out _right._ But even pain and torture hadn't cured Draco.

Though, Lucius had to admit, the boy had fooled him. Lucius had thought everything was finally going as planned, Draco had calmed down. Draco had been doing everything Lucius asked of him, his childish fantasies and loves fading away—or so Lucius had thought.

It was obvious now that it had all been a ploy, and Lucius Malfoy was no one's idiot. He looked down at the picture of himself, his wife, and their son. Although wizarding pictures move, no one would have been able to distinguish the photo Lucius held, with that of a muggle photograph. The three of them looked serious, cold, and controlled. That's how Lucius had wanted it.

Draco's room appeared to be all of that, but something was odd. Lucius knew his son had an apartment elsewhere…his spies had yet to uncover _where_ it was and that—Lucius took a deep breath, controlling his rising anger—was unacceptable.

He moved to the dresser, lowering himself by having to do this work himself—but everyone else had failed. Even money could not buy the truth he wanted.

In one way it made him proud—proud that his son had so cleverly and intricately twisted and wound the truth, the facts, until there was nothing left. But in another way…Lucius slammed the dresser door, running a hand through his long blond hair.

Where would he, a boy—intelligent but stupid at the same time—hide something?

He would have hidden it away, at the other apartment—not in his home, not when he knew there was even the slightest possibility that it might be found—whatever it was.

That is what he would have done, and Lucius was sure that, in all likelihood his son had kept most of everything he had to keep secret elsewhere…

But, Lucius mused as he ran his hand over the top of the dresser, searching…but his son was also stupid—stupid to have started keeping secrets. Draco had always been attached to objects—and if he spent any time here at the manor, he would have needed something…something to hold on to.

A cold grin formed on Lucius's pale face as his fingers touched something that definitely did not belong on the top of his son's dresser.

* * *

"Merry Christmas!"

Draco opened one eye and screamed. "What the hell did you do to my room!" He fought his way out of his warm cocoon of covers and stood, rubbing his eyes. "Fucking Merlin." He whispered. He sat back down on the bed. "I know you said you had the Christmas spirit, but…" He looked at the mirage of dancing lights. "Isn't this a little overboard?"

Hermione sat down next to him and hugged him. "He likes it, I think."

Draco turned, "Who are you talking to?"

"Your Christmas present." Hermione said, brining a small kitten into view. She plopped the little ball of fuzz onto Draco's lap, "Merry Christmas." And kissed his cheek. Draco reached down and stroked a hand over the fuzzy mongrel. "Uh, thanks." He had to admit, as the kitten looked up at him with deep blue eyes, it was awfully cute. He looked up and took in the room again.

"Did you seriously do all this while I just slept there?"

Hermione nodded. "Oh, and you have a dentist appointment at 9 o'clock next week, a hair appointment at 10 and you want to surprise me with an actual home cooked meal—that isn't burnt."

"Huh?" Draco had no idea how she knew that. He'd been planning it for weeks. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione grinned and stood, going to fuss with one of the decorations by his window. "While I was working, you sat up suddenly and started rattling off your schedule, then you sort of just…" she grinned as a mortified look crossed his face. "You just kind of melted back down. I think you were dreaming. I laughed."

"Well of course you did." Draco mumbled. He stood now, taking the kitten and gently putting it on the bed, it looked tired and immediately curled up, purring, and went to sleep. Draco watched as the small chest rose and fell—it was soothing—and it made him smile softly.

Hermione watched as Draco stood there, a soft smile on his face. "I thought you'd like him." She whispered, not wanting to break the spell that was Christmas.

Draco nodded, motioning for her to come over to him.

"He was lost. Just showed up outside the apartment buildings—I had to take him."

"Did you name him?" Draco asked as the little kitten's tail curled and uncurled in quiet happiness.

Hermione shook her head. "I thought you would want to."

"We could name him together."

"We could." Hermione nodded.

"Let's call him Harry."

Hermione stepped back. "You're kidding right?"

Draco shrugged. "Well, it would give me a legitimate reason to curse Potter, now wouldn't it. I could go 'Stupid Harry!', 'Bad Harry', 'Come here Potter, Potter, Potter'…"

"You need help."

"That I do."

"Why don't you call him Sunflower?"

"Now you've got to be kidding. It was a reach with Harry, but Sunflower?"

"You're right, I'm joking."

"Good. How bout we name him later, and you get to open your present?"

Hermione smiled. "I can get behind that."

"Good." Draco rummaged through his closet, getting clothes. "You just go wait in the living room."

Hermione left, sitting on the couch as she waited for Draco. She could tell he'd had a little spirit for the holidays. A few wreaths were hung outside the windows, and candles—green, red and white—were scattered across some of the tabletops. She smiled, seeing the tree. He probably hadn't had much time to decorate it. There were a few ornaments stuck here or there—but the sparsely decorated tree didn't matter, everything was perfect.

She'd lit a fire to warm the place after she arrived. Hermione turned as she heard Draco enter. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Aren't I always?" Draco replied, Hermione rolled her eyes and he laughed.

"I brought some rolls and danishes." Hermione got up and picked up the package of pastries.

They sat down and ate.

After they were finished Hermione and Draco went back to the couch, along with the yet-unnamed kitten.

"I really think we should name him. You can't just call him cat forever."

"I know, I know. Though that _would _be easier. If I came home drunk, I'd still be able to remember his name."

Hermione smacked his arm. "You can't be doing that anymore—you've got to take care of little Nick."

Draco laughed.

"What?"

"I think you've already named him." Draco mused, picking up the light orange ball of fuzz.

"Oh." Hermione blushed. "Well, I was calling him Nikolas—but he doesn't have to be stuck with that. It was just so close to Christmas and all, and he looked like a Saint Nick to me."

"I think it is perfect."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad."

Draco set the kitten down, and watched as it ran off to play. "Well, I think it's time for presents, don't you?"

Hermione grinned. "Uh oh."

"That's right. You just keep thinking that." Draco went to fetch the wrapped presents. Coming back he sat down handing her a small square one. "Open this one first."

Hermione ran her hand over the ludicrous wrapping paper, smiling. "Oh my." As she tore the rapping off Hermione could see the small book.

"It's a collection of muggle poems."

"It's beautiful. Wow." Hermione delicately held the book and opened it up. "This looks…rare."

Draco nodded. "It is. One of two, I was told." He took the book from her, "They're not bad—the poems—I was reading through it the other day. I really like this one."

Hermione looked down at the poem. "That one's perfect."

A while later, Hermione pulled out a small box from her pocket. "This is your other present." She handed it to Draco and watched as he opened it.

Draco opened the small box, taking out the figurine. "I've never seen anything like it." Draco said in awe as he ran his fingers across the intricate carvings.

"It belonged to my great-grandfather…it's a tradition, to pass it on to the sons in the family. I don't have a brother, so it was given to me—and well, it brings luck."

Draco set the figurine aside. "Thank you. Thank you so much. This is wonderful."

* * *

Lucius's fingers grasped the object, pulling it down. The small object lay there in the palm of his hand—broken.

Lucius felt tears. Tears.

He wasn't sure what it was; he wasn't sure about anything anymore—only that he had lost his son.

The object had been broken…but the sadness of it all was that Lucius could see the desperate attempts to unite the two pieces—tape and glue, muggle ways and magic, the remnants of failed binding spells.

Yet nothing had worked.

The object lay in two pieces.

Sometimes.

What is broken can never be mended.

No life can be replaced.

No deed erased.

No heart can be put back together.


	16. Over Part 2

**Ugly**

**Over**

**Part Two**

* * *

"You what!"

Hermione bit her lip. "Draco, I just think that…"

"I know what you think. But you're wrong! You are wrong." Draco's voice cracked. "We can make it." He whispered.

Hermione wouldn't look at him as the tears ran down her face…instead she backed away.

"Don't…Please don't pull away from me." Draco grasped her hand. "You don't know that…"

Hermione cut him off. "I do."

"You don't. It used to be that way. But we _can_, we can…"

"NO!" Hermione screamed, pulling her hand from Draco's. "We can't."

She turned away from him.

She left.

Draco stood in the empty room; his whole world had just suddenly gone empty.

And he was lost.

* * *

Harry could see the snow...the beautiful cold snow. It floated and swirled—twirling. Hermione had loved to twirl. She had twirled so many times, a happy smile overtaking her worried features.

How many times had she done that? How many times had he not noticed the way her eyes glittered? How had he forgotten how she'd loved the snow?

She'd written a poem about it once. She'd memorized it, and once—when it was just him and Hermione, she had told it to him.

* * *

They were walking in the snow. The sun shone brightly, blinding the two Gryffindors as they walked along the frozen lake.

"Do you see the rainbows?"

Harry nodded. The whole landscape glistened. Each flake of snow it's own prism.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry nodded again. "Yeah."

Hermione had grown quiet.

"What are you thinking?"

Smiling at him, Hermione and scooped up a handful of snow and brought it close to her face. "Just…well, about something I wrote."

Harry grinned. "What's that?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

"Come on. You can tell me, it's just the two of us."

Hermione had let the snowfall from her cupped hands like the sand of a time-turner.

"It's a poem. But…" she looked at Harry. "Promise me. Promise me you won't ask why."

Harry nodded, confused.

Taking a deep breath Hermione stopped walking, staring at the snow as she began. "If I were to die. I'd die alone. Alone and cold…" her eyes traveled out to across the lake. "Alone in the snow. If I were to die. I'd die in the snow—alone. Alone in the cold snow."

Harry watched, as her eyes grew distant. "I'd die in the snow and spread my arms. I'd make my angel wings, to carry me far away from this life, my angel wings." Her eyes finally settled on Harry. "As I lay there dying. Cold and alone. As I lay there dying. Dying in the snow. Just me. Me and my angel wings."

He hadn't said anything as the smile graced her face and the snow sparkled. He hadn't said anything as they started walking. He'd never said anything.

* * *

Ron unlocked the door to his home. He'd left the lights on.

Or maybe he hadn't. The first thing he saw was the luggage, and then he felt the arms around him.

"I'm home." the voice whispered.

Ron felt his heart collapse. "Julie."

"I missed you so much." Julie buried her face in her husband's chest. "I'm sorry, Ron. For everything. Everything I've done wrong."

"Oh, Julie." Ron was crying. "I need you so much." He had missed the smell of her, the feel of her…the warmth of another person. "Don't leave me again." He whispered.

"I won't. That's a promise."

"Hermione." Ron started.

"I'm so sorry."

"Harry and Ginny…they…"

Julie felt her heart catch. "Ginny?"

"They were in an accident."

Julie held him closer. "I could have lost you."

Ron couldn't say anything. The truth was, she almost had.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stared at the figurine on his desk. His high back chair kept him awake as he waited. Waited for something to happen. The cream and black of the figurine looked almost grotesque in the way it was broken—his stomach churned. What was this thing that could make him _feel_?

What magic could make someone who'd kept emotions under lock and key feel the need to cry?

_Love…_

The thought passed quickly through his mind as the door opened and Narcissus looked in.

"Lucius?"

He didn't answer.

He never did.

And she never expected him to.

Lucius didn't know if he'd ever felt love. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything, so it was a bit hard to remember. They say that those who go blind eventually lose the ability to even grasp the concept of green grass—of blue sky. Lucius Malfoy had lost the ability to feel.

Was he even human?

His son had accused him of being inhuman…

He was cruel. Cold. Collected. Strict. But inhuman?

The last time he'd checked a 'human' was a biped that had the correct DNA and came from the consummation of two other humans.

But can you lose your humanity.

Narcissus stood by his chair, she knew better than to sit on the edge of his desk.

Lucius looked up at his wife's face and placed his hand on top of hers.

She jumped.

Her skin was cool, soft…

But that was all Lucius Malfoy could feel.

* * *

Ginny woke. Her head, her heart, her body ached—screamed for redemption. Why couldn't she just die?

She could remember the blood—the slimy slick red of it. She could still taste it.

She was alive.

Ginny turned her head.

It was snowing.

Hermione had loved the snow. Ginny had hated it.

* * *

"But redheads look nice against white." Hermione laughed.

Ginny shook her head. "I'm not going out." She replied firmly.

"Aw, come on."

"No."

"Why not?" Hermione looked hurt.

Ginny was taken aback; she racked her brain for an excuse. "The cold." She blurted out. "It makes my skin…dry." She'd turned and ran away, bumping into Malfoy as she went.

* * *

Ginny sat up quickly—her whole body rebelled and she lay back down. _Malfoy?_

The machine to her right began to beep.

No shit, she thought. Her heart was doing a million per second.

How many times had she seen Malfoy and then Hermione, or Hermione and then Malfoy…how many times had Hermione disappeared from dinner and Malfoy wasn't there either?

You're grasping at straws…she told herself.

But maybe, just maybe…

The room spun black as a nurse bent over her. "You'll be okay honey."

Ginny saw the needle poise, she saw the drugs enter the IV, she felt everything start to slip away, and she heard…

"I'm so sorry."

She felt a hand stroke her forehead. That was the last thing she felt before the world ended.


	17. Forgiveness

Ugly

Forgiveness

Part One

* * *

Seeping, sleeping, swarming, scarlet, sweep, sweetly, sour, and scream…

Many words begin with the letter 's'. There are those that are good—summer, soothing, smooth, strawberry—and then there are those that bring back memories you'd rather keep hidden.

Slytherin…

The word floated through her mind slowly…casting its charms—triggering the flow of memories, snippets of time.

Things not seen…

Things not seen…

* * *

Separately, things make no sense. A puzzle piece misplaced is useless—unnoticed. But when it is returned to its rightful spot, shapes and pictures and truths are revealed.

"I thought I'd find you here!" Ginny clasped her hands together, looking smug. "And I did." Hermione was easy to find. Just look for the loneliest corner of the castle and presto, one very alone Hermione.

Hermione nodded softly, her eyes distant.

"Hey! Earth to Hermione." Ginny waved her hand obnoxiously in front of her friend.

Hermione swatted her hand away. "I'm here. What do you want?"

Ginny shrugged. "Ohh…nothing _much_."

"I'm not doing your homework." Hermione said matter-of-factly.

Grinning Ginny rolled her eyes. "Not that it would do me any good. But…I just wanted to know how—you know—detention went."

"What are you talking about?"

Ginny stepped back. "Did you or did you not have detention with Draco Malfoy, dreaded enemy of all Gryffindors?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

Hermione shifted nervously. "I don't get it."

"Of course you don't."

"Then it explain it to me." Hermione said tersely.

"Come _on!_ You were alone with him for over two hours…"

"Point being?"

Ginny opened her mouth and was about to speak when a cold voice spoke up from behind her.

"What your friend here is trying to ask is how many curses did you get a chance to use on me."

Ginny spun around, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Malfoy."

He smirked at her as he raised his hands slowly and clapped. "Congratulations, Weasley. You know who I am. Now get lost."

"Uh, excuse me. I was here first!"

His eyes were pools of ice. "And I care? Move it."

Ginny turned back to her friend, "Come on. No one wants to be around him for too long. We'll catch…something."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Clever. I just hope you didn't hurt yourself."

"Come on, Hermione." Ginny pulled Hermione's hand.

"Actually." Ginny felt the cold fingers on her own wrist as they untwined them from around Hermione's. "I need to talk to Granger."

"Why?"

Malfoy looked pointedly at Hermione and she looked to Ginny then out the window. "He…"

Ginny glanced out the window; Harry was walking alone across the courtyard, broom in hand. The sudden flow of daydreams and the quick flight of reason had her quickly leaving Hermione and Malfoy—alone—in the hallway.

* * *

"Harry?" Ginny opened her eyes to find the last person she expected in her room. He had changed. Mental or physical, most likely both...it didn't matter—the toll of everything going on had taken from him…

He looked up. "You're awake." His voice was neutral. His eyes were dull, his expression slack. Even his posture was one of someone who has lost too much.

Ginny didn't try to move, she knew she couldn't…and even if she had she wouldn't be able to get away from the sight in front of her.

Harry's hair was flat, no longer having a life of it's own. His skin was stretched and she could see the pink of new skin…and the stitches that had pieced the gashes together. His whole body was limp and the only thing that kept him from slumping to the floor was the protective strap around his waist…connected to the wheelchair.

"Harry." Ginny closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Harry slowly looked up at her. He felt the pain deep in his chest…in his eyes. His muscles had forgotten how to work…he'd forgotten how to do a lot of things. But he knew what he had to do. He might not like it…but it had to be done. He breathed in a deep breath, slow, and opened his mouth to slowly give forgiveness, in the best way he could.

"…You think…I look bad. You…should see…yourself."

* * *

"You can't hide from me forever!"

"Watch me!"

"I can't! The door is in the way!"

"You idiot, it's an expression!"

Draco leaned against the door. "Let me in, Hermione, please."

To his surprise the locks were removed and the door swung open—leaving him to fall flat on his face. When he looked up he saw what he feared he'd see the most.

Hermione's face was furious, and blotchy from crying. She made no move to help him up and he didn't expect her to.

Draco stood. "Why are you doing this?"

Hermione tried to calm her emotions. She tried to hide behind the mask that kept her feelings so well hidden from her friends. But it had never worked on Draco. He'd always been able to see straight to her heart. Straight to her soul. "I—I thought we both knew why."

"And I thought we'd decided to get over it. Together."

Hermione could only shake her head, but she didn't object as Draco raised his hand to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Do you remember what you told me, that night in our seventh year?"

Hermione shook her head.

"We went walking—to escape those who didn't understand us, to escape ourselves. The air was warmer; it was just beginning to hint that summer was coming. We walked in silence. Just watching the stars and the wind and the way the grass swayed and the trees danced.

There was something strange ahead of us, a rainbow-like haze and you told me that it was a sign that spring was ending."

Hermione closed her eyes. "I told you that some people believed that if you walked through the haze you could have any wish you wanted granted to you."

"And I told you that it was all a bunch of shit."

"Yes, you were always so very poetic at times like that."

Draco grinned at the humor in her voice. "So to prove that, I walked through it."

"And had ammonia for the next week afterward. Stupid idiot."

"But before that, I asked you what you'd wish for."

"And I told you."

"Yes, you did." He wrapped his arms around her tightly and felt the weight on his heart lift as she did the same. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione buried her head against his chest. "No. I'm sorry."

* * *

Julie was cooking when Ron returned.

"I was wondering if you were coming back." She smiled and leaned over to give Ron a kiss.

Pulling back Ron searched his wife's eyes—seeing the deep devotion he glanced away. "I had to walk…"

"Was Ginny awake?"

"Yes…awake and talking."

Julie sipped the glass of water. "Oh? What was she saying?"

Ron shook his head. "She wasn't talking to me."

"Hallucinating?"

"No. She…" Ron shook his head and he was suddenly back in the hospital doorway. His sister's whole face had been dull…until… "She was apologizing…to Harry." He'd watched silently from the door as her words cut the silence. 'I'm sorry.' He couldn't remember a time when Ginny had apologized, for anything.

And he couldn't remember a time when Harry had forgiven his sister for anything.

The world was going on.

Life was continuing.

As the old man had told him…everything can be resolved.

Ron was now even more determined to find forgiveness—from the dead. He needed Hermione to forgive him before he could ever fully move on.

"Do you want supper now?"

Glancing up, Ron nodded. "That would be nice." He sat down and heard his little girl run into the room.

His family was here for him.

He was going to be there for them as well.


	18. Forgiveness Part 2

**Ugly**

**Forgiveness**

**Part Two**

* * *

Nikolas ran between the two, playing and rolling and jumping with the carelessness only a child or a kitten can have. Draco and Hermione were silent as they watched the kitten tumble over boxes.

"You're going to spoil him." Hermione murmured. Draco had already bought a bed, scratching post, assortment of rolling objects, and cat greenies—a treat that your cat will love and promotes healthy teeth.

Draco shrugged and reached down to stroke the small ball of fur. Nikolas purred affectionately and lay down, allowing his belly to be rubbed. "I have to spoil something." Draco rubbed the kitten's ears before adding softly. "You won't let me spoil you."

Hermione brought her knees to her chest; jealously eying the gentle way Draco handled the kitten. "I don't need to be spoiled."

"Yes, you do. You need to know that someone loves you so much that they just want to shower you with useless items."

"I know you like me."

Draco looked up, his eyes glinting. "I said love, Hermione, not like."

She looked away.

"You just won't let yourself be happy." He sighed. "Or maybe you just don't want to be happy with me."

"Draco!"

He smiled. "See, I knew you liked me."

"You know I do."

Nikolas had had enough of Draco and ran off behind the couch. Draco smiled softly and looked back to Hermione. "We both have problems."

"Isn't that the truth?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Understatement of the year, Malfoy."

"We've come so far since school, Hermione. You have to admit that."

"We have, yes, but…"

"But we made a promise."

"We knew the consequences of that promise, I made sure you were clear on it." Hermione knotted her fingers together.

"Yes. I know them very well. But I'm willing…Hermione." Draco got up and moved so that he was in front of her. "Hermione, I'm willing to die. I'm willing to die so that I can have even the tiniest hint of happiness. Just once."

Hermione's eyes were distant. "We really were stupid, weren't we?"

Draco took her hand, running his fingers over her soft skin. "We still are, love."

* * *

Standing in front of what you fear is something entirely shocking. You can't predict how your body, your mind and your feelings will explode.

Lucius stood in front of a house of a family friend. Someone, who he was sure knew Draco—someone who knew his son.

And he'd be damned if he was going to leave here without answers.

1410 Dunrocher.

He hated this place more than he hated anything. And Lucius Malfoy hated everything.

The door, he really did not want to touch it, even though the black leather glove would save him from actually making contact. It was still too close for comfort. But it had to be done.

It was always raining when he visited here.

When he was forced to visit here.

Quickly he rapped three times and was surprised to see that by the second rap the door had opened.

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Giselle."

"Won't you come in?"

Lucius moved cautiously inside. "You've done so much with the place." He murmured, eyeing the crumbling decay around him.

"Why thank you, Lucius."

His body trembled involuntarily. "Madame." He nodded to the woman he loathed respectfully.

"Come into the kitchen and have a seat, Lucius."

Lucius did as told; you don't mess with those who even the dark lord would rather cut off his own head than disobey.

Her hair was in its usual gray-brown bun and she sat almost haughtily across from him. "I knew you'd be coming sooner or later."

"As if I had a choice?"

"Well now, tea?"

Lucius accepted the cup but did not drink. "I don't want any of your witches brew, Madame."

"Then tell me, why are you here?"

He lost it. "You damn well know why I'm here."

"Temper, temper. I didn't think the cold hearted Lucius Malfoy had it in him."

Lucius shook but swallowed his tongue. Better to just let her have her way.

"Good boy." She sipped her tea. "You're here, acquiring about your son, I assume?"

Nodding, Lucius leaned forward. "I know you _know_ what I want to know."

"The question is, am I going to give it to you?"

"I have left you alone all these years."

The woman smiled, and it was not pleasant. "Out of fear, dear Lucius."

"Draco didn't fear you."

This time the woman's smile was sweet. "You're son was very bright, Lucius. Even you couldn't change that."

"I want to know everything."

"You will." Her silver eyes met his. "For a price."

"And that would be?"

She breathed a heavy sigh. "From you, Lucius. I want what you took from your son."

His voice was unsteady, as he already knew the answer—truths he'd cleverly forgotten were about to be released. "What did I take?"

"His happiness."

* * *

"Ginny?"

Ginny looked over at Harry. "Yeah?"

He met her eyes. "Nothing, it's just you've been awfully quiet."

"I'm thinking…" she shook her head. "I'm remembering."

"Oh?"

She carefully sat up—as best as she could—and turned to Harry. "I think I know where we have to look."

"Look for what?"

"To find Hermione."

Harry's eyes widened. "What?"

* * *

"Hermione, would you hurry up? I'm freezing out here!" Ginny jumped from foot to foot. What was taking her so long? "Hermione?" Where was she? "This is the last time I go for a walk with you!" she screamed behind her.

"I'm coming. You're not going to die."

"My fingers are going to fall off!"

"Stop being such a wimp."

"WIMP?" Ginny tugged off her gloves to show her blue fingers to Hermione.

Hermione only laughed. "Such a wimp."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am…Hey, who's that?" Ginny pointed to a moving shadow.

"I don't see anything."

"How can't you? It's the only thing moving out there. I bet someone's having a little romantic meeting or something. What do you think?" She eyed the black clad figure. Was it her imagination, or did it have blond hair?

Hermione only shrugged. "Hold up. I've got to tie my shoe."

"I'm not waiting any longer. I'll see you in the Great Hall."

"Okay."

Ginny left intent on warming her frozen digits.

* * *

"She never came back in. Well, at least she didn't meet me in the Great Hall."

"You're talking crazy, Ginny. Do you want me to get the nurse?"

Ginny shook her head. She had to make him understand. "No. Hermione was supposed to meet me, but she never did."

"So?"

"Haarrry! You have to understand!"

Harry laid a hand on the almost hysterical Ginny. "Then try to explain it to me."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I just…I just want to know that you don't hate me."

Harry stood there silently. He couldn't lie.

"I'm sorry, Ginny."

She sighed. "So am I."

* * *

Hermione woke with warm arms around her and instantly felt tears sting her eyes.

Things were so perfect.

She could hear the distant purring of Nick—who had come to realize that the bed was just not big enough for three and had settled onto the nightstand instead.

She could hear the slow breathing that tickled her neck.

And she could hear her heart beating.

It was good to be alive…even if… Hermione shook her head and tried to let her conscience take a rest.

Some of the best things in life are total mistakes.


	19. To Preserve and Untie

**Ugly**

**To Preserve and Untie**

**Part One**

* * *

Perhaps in a perfect world we'd know the answer, the perfect answer to each little irritating question life sees fit to throw our way.

But since when has this world ever been perfect?

Or for that matter, when has it been fair?

The whole point of living is to suffer, I've come to realize. Suffer through each day and agonize each night away so that when—if—happiness crosses your path you know damn well to respect it…to hold on to it, to cherish it as if you might not live to see the next day or night.

To lie beside someone who knows this as you do…this is something totally new to me. And I cry. You may not understand it, but just being around the one who knows your very worst parts of you—scares me to death.

I would think I would be happy about this. I should be. I should!

I should…

* * *

Harry blinked once, twice. Ginny didn't look away. "Excuse me?"

Pushing herself to a sitting position, Ginny winced. "I…I think I know."

"If you're pulling my leg…"

"Harry! I swear to you. I'm…I'm not pulling your leg. I'm serious."

Harry eyed the pleading red head. Her face and arms covered in sickly green bruises, her red hair tangled—hopefully from nightmares, nightmares as horrid as the ones that plagued him. They'd gone through so much. How could it be that she just stumbled upon the answer? How is it she was the one to figure it out? Harry couldn't help the anger that rose from deep in his chest. It had been there for a long while and finally, had come out.

How dare she!

How dare she try to do this to him!

He was going to figure it out. Not her. Ginny had done nothing but manipulate, hurt, deceive. She had taken Hermione away. She'd taken everything away. She'd tried to take his life. Now, she wanted to take this. His green eyes hardened, his jaw set, lips forming a thin, grim line.

Ginny swallowed, her eyes widening as the changes overcame Harry. She reached out, only to be stopped by the hatred in his eyes.

"Harry…" Ginny felt the searing pain of heartache as he looked at her—disgusted. His dark hair shadowed his face, his eyes furious. Ginny struggled to move, to get up…to do anything.

"You're sick, Ginny."

"I'm not lying! Harry, I swear to Merlin! Just hear me out."

Harry shook his head, his eyes sweeping over the petite form as it struggled. "I'm tired of your lies. I'm tired of you." Turning, he walked out.

"I'm not lying! Harry! Come back. I know…I know who it is!" Ginny screamed, her voice hoarse.

But Harry didn't pause, he didn't turn. He walked out of the room, the door closing with a soft click.

* * *

_Would you give anything to be with the one you want? Would you give your soul, your family, and your life? Would you give up your freedom?_

_Would you give them your heart, your every waking thought? Would you die with them? For them? Next to them? Away from them? Would you die?_

_If your answer is yes…_

_We have the perfect solution! Here at Ugly Inc. We've created the perfect solution for those who are desperately in need of each other but…can't be with each other. You all know who you are!_

_We have created the perfect escape. The perfect excuse, the perfect situation for all you hopeless suicidal people out there!_

Draco sneered even as he laughed. It was the most insane, ridiculous thing he'd ever written. But that was his way, his stress relief. Humorous and horrid all in one, his life—all rolled into a nice neat little package and secured with a bow.

He swiveled in his chair, watching the world revolve. Was this what it looked like to Hermione? Back when she spun in careless circles. Did everything look so crazy and disorientated, scary even? But at the same time…so wonderful?

* * *

"I wish that I could just stay here forever." Hermione murmured in response.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Who are your best friends?"

"Harry and Ron, of course."

"Of course." Draco nodded in agreement. "But are they really? Are they really your friends or is it just one of those things you say."

Hermione twisted her hair back. "They are my friends. That doesn't mean they have to understand me."

"But shouldn't they at least care?"

"Oh, they care…in their own way."

"Fancy words for saying that they don't."

"They do!"

"Okay, okay…so, favorite Hogwarts moment?"

"So far?"

"Yes."

Hermione turned on her side so that she could look at him. It was hard to believe she was sitting…correction, lying with Draco Malfoy. "I'm not sure. I love school."

"Could have told you that one."

"I do! I love learning."

"And being the best."

"Yes, that too."

This had been going on for a while. They were both lying on their sides, heads propped up on elbows. They were outside, and for once, it was light out.

Draco had proposed they get to know each other. Hermione had scoffed. But in the end…

"So, what about you?"

"What about me what?"

Hermione eyed him coldly—or tried to. "What did you do over the summer?"

Draco thought for a moment, listening to the wind as it brushed past them softly. They'd been back at school for only a few days—he hadn't been able to stand it, he'd sought out Granger.

They hadn't talked in ages, an entire summer where neither of them had given the other a minute of thought.

But the second he'd returned to Hogwarts…

Draco squinted at the bright blue sky. "Well…let's see. I was busy being groomed to become the next ruler of the world."

"Busy job, eh?"

Draco's eyes shot back to Hermione's joking face, shocked. "I suppose you could say that." He said slowly, carefully.

"Me on the other hand, I find that being ruler of the universe to be such a nice job. Easy going. Simple. I like playing with the universe. I turned one of the worlds upside down the other day. Made another full of famine and disease. Such fun."

Confusion mounting, Draco sat up and eyed the brunette. "Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't get you."

Hermione grinned. "You don't like to be confused. Do you?"

Draco grimaced. "Not at all."

"Out of control?"

"Don't like that either."

"Out here with me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger, you are an oddity."

"Why thank you Supreme Ruler of the World."

"Shut up."

"Yes, your majesty."

"Granger."

"My lord?"

Draco frowned, only causing Hermione to grin widely.

"I enjoyed this. We must do it again soon." Picking herself up, Hermione brushed the grass from her pants.

"Really?"

Hermione glanced down at the blond. His silver-gray eyes looking up at her. "Really."

* * *

That had surprised him more than anything else that had happened before...though not after. It had almost seemed a turning point in the weird dance they'd been doing. Draco couldn't imagine why she'd wanted to be with him. He shook his head—she wasn't with him now.

Opening up another document he stared, angry now, at the blinking curser.

What could he say?

What was there to say?

Slowly he pecked out a short message:

**I haven't heard from you in several weeks, owl me.**

Printing it out, he folded it once, twice and slipped it into an envelope before stuffing it in the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

He'd give it to one of the owls later.

Clicking out of the document, Draco stared out the window and wondered.

* * *

Ron crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb his sleeping wife. He'd caught site of a rampaging Harry as he passed by the bedroom window, motioning for Ron to get his ass outside, it was amazing what Harry could say using only hand gestures.

Opening the door, Ron was surprised to see that no one was there.

"Harry?"

"Down here."

Looking down, Ron found his friend, sitting on the cold concrete steps. "Harry…"

"Your sister," Harry's deep green eyes looked up at him. "Is delusional."

"Huh?"

"Ginny…" Harry said slowly, thinking it over in his head. "Ginny has decided that she _knows_ what happened. She says she knows who the man in Hermione's life was."

"So? Who is it?"

Harry looked up at Ron, disgusted.

"What!"

"Ginny is delusional."

Crossing his arms over his chest, protection against the morning chill, Ron sat next to his best friend. "She seemed rather…" He saw the twitch of irritation in his friend's jaw. "Harry, do you want to come in? Some tea maybe?" He offered as Harry shook his head.

"I want to solve this, Ron." Harry's mouth set in a thin line. "I'm going to solve this."

Ron watched with worried eyes as Harry stood, stiffly nodding to him a silent goodbye. "Good luck to you then." Ron murmured, doubt filling his voice. Harry had never been able to do anything without help…without the help of Hermione.

Every time they'd faced…. anything…Hermione had been the one to pull them all through. Now, Ron was the only one left to watch over their beloved friend. Making up his mind, Ron stood, going back into the warmth.

Hermione would have killed him if he left Harry to himself.

Ron would do what Hermione had done…what she would have done now, if she'd been here to do so. He would pull Harry through this.

But first, Ron went back into the dark of his room to dress, a visit to someone important.

* * *

"Hermione!" Ron waved enthusiastically as he closed the last few feet that separated them.

"Ron!" Hermione mocked.

"Is everything ready?" Ron whispered, a twinkle in his eyes.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. I was just about to go fetch the birthday boy when you so…" She shook her head in amusement. "When you gave me that very _warm_ welcome. I hope I can still hear later. It was loud."

Ron blushed, the tips of his ears turning a delightful shade of pink. "Now, now. I'm just excited."

"I know. Now…you finish up here, while I go fetch."

Ron looked around at the perfectly set up room. "I'll fix this place up in a jiffy."

"Mhm." Hermione murmured as she buttoned up her coat. Leaning over, she gave Ron a quick, warm hug. "See you soon!"

She walked to the fireplace and flooed herself to Harry's flat.

* * *

They'd taken care of Harry…together. Between Hermione and himself, Ron was sure that Harry had been very well sought after. Hermione, however, had been the one who could pry out what was bothering their friend without any…prying.

She'd been so good at a lot of things. Hermione had been good at life. It made no sense that she…

Ron's fists clinched. How could he still believe she'd taken that life herself?

"Because it's the simplest answer." Ron muttered, anger rising. He'd taken the simplest answer thrown his way and that, as they say, was that.

* * *

Hermione stirred her steaming cup of tea, watching the way the warm liquid swirled in the wake of the spoon.

_We were free, once, believe it… _

_You and me, we used to be free…_

The light music and loud chatter of the restaurant surrounded her senses. It was warm, cozy and noisy—a place where one could forget, forget everything and just be happy. Or not. Hermione's body stiffened as the door opened once more, this time, the patron making his way to her table.

_You and me, we used to be free… _

_Flying free…Just you and me_

"Sorry I'm late."

Hermione hummed slightly as the man sat across from her. "You're forgiven."

He glanced up, a smirk upon his face, placing his briefcase on the seat next to him. Folding his hands, he leaned forward. "I am, am I?"

He only shook his head as he watched her stir her tea. "Would you please look up? You've been in this sulk for far too long."

Hermione glanced up, her honey brown eyes surveying the scene above the blond's head before quickly looking back at her tea.

"Hermione Granger, I am only going to tell you this one last time. Stop acting like a three year old."

_Just you and me… _

_Can't leave it all behind, I'm so sorry…_

Hermione's face flushed. "Look who's talking? Aren't you the one who taught me how to sulk? Fine role model you've been."

Draco nodded, his eyes bright with amusement, but his face serious. "That may be, but not for something as stupid as this."

"How dare you tell me that what I'm upset about is stupid!" Hermione hissed, her voice low.

_Can't leave it all behind, I'm so sorry... _

_Looking at you now, makes my heart cry…_

Draco ran a hand through his hair, sitting back. "Would you just listen to yourself?"

"I can hear myself quite well, thank you very much."

"I didn't say hear, I said listen. Listen to yourself Hermione! You're not being rational."

…_Makes my heart cry…_

_I can't stand this pain…_

"Oh that's just rich!"

Massaging his face, Draco tried hard not to lose his temper—again. "Hermione, just…"

"No."

"What?"

"You heard me, I said no. Whatever it is you're about to suggest. I'm not going to do it."

"You're being stupid!"

Crossing her arms across her chest, Hermione glared.

"You really want to end this?" Draco whispered. "Don't you."

He didn't wait for Hermione to answer. He gathered his things, taking one last look at her before he exited the building.

_I can't stand this pain…_

_Can't stand your pain…_

* * *

Dean Thomas looked up with mild interest as Ron walked in. The two men watched each other. Neither of them caring too deeply for the other.

"Harry's talked to you, I assume?"

Ron nodded, "You assume right." sitting himself across from Dean. His body sunk deep into the well-padded chair. He tried to sit up, but the chair was made so that the occupant was comfortable—too comfortable.

"He never could control his temper." Dean sat behind his desk, systematically ordering the piles of files upon it. "Stormed in here, in a huff. Like I could possibly do anything about…_this_." Folding his hands, he leaned forward, eyeing the large red headed man. "I suspected him to be back by now. Angry with me."

Ron chuckled softly. "Oh, no worries there. He will be. Once he figures this all out." Ron's eyes darkened. "If, he figures this all out."

Dean eyed him with interest. "And what is it _you_ want?"

Ron rounded his shoulders. "I want you to remove all knowledge of _this_, as you so eloquently put it, from your files, the muggle files, and I want a retraction printed in the newspapers."

"But it's true!"

Ron's eyebrow rose. "Dean. They print lies for a living. Give them one to print…consider it your good deed for the year."

Dean sat, considering. "And…" He prompted.

Ron studied the floor for a moment before looking up, his eyes dark. "And I'll make sure you are in the running for the next Minister of Magic."

Dean grinned, rising from his desk, hand extended. "You have a deal."

* * *

"Come in." Lucius growled.

The door to his study opened, a ray of light from the outside world illuminating the man who walked curtly to his desk, hand outstretched—holding a thick envelope.

Lucius's long pale fingers wrapped around the envelope, curious at its weight, he placed it on the desk. "This is what I requested?"

The man nodded. "Everything from the last six months, Lord Malfoy."

"Dismissed."

The man hurried from the room, closing the door, sealing Lucius in his preferred darkness.

His fingers lifted the black-jeweled knife from the desk, sliding it along the edge of the envelope. He'd asked for his son's last six months and they were supposedly inside this envelope. With the air of one who was unfolding the morning's paper, Lucius pulled forth the first sheet of paper and began to read.

If I had you,

I would buy you a million copies of _Hogwarts, A History._

If I had you, I would be rich.

If I had you, I would buy you a mansion in every province.

I would shower you in love.

I wouldn't buy you health food.

And I wouldn't let you cry.

But, I know you don't want any of that. Well, possibly, you would go for the million editions of _Hogwarts, A History_. But you wouldn't care if I were rich. You don't care for houses. You don't care for my love. And I think that is what hurts most.

Do you remember my rather pathetic attempt at grocery shopping? I do. I think about it all the time. I also think about the night we fell asleep together on the couch and I woke up with you in my arms. Why? Why did you stiffen when you woke? I could feel it, I could feel the warmth leach from your body. Do you know how much that hurt me?

I only wanted to hold you closer.

And you pulled away from me. Ever since that night, you've been pulling away from me. Oh, don't deny it. I can imagine you shaking your head as you read this. You've been pulling farther and farther away from me. The more I try to get closer to you, the more distance you put between us.

What does it matter? I am complying with your wishes.

Yours truly,

I wish to Merlin I could put love, but you just won't let me.

Draco


	20. To Preserve and Untie Part 2

Ugly

**To Preserve and Untie**

**Part Two**

* * *

_Needing you to complete me, I need you to breath. Together we become one, apart we fall from this life._

* * *

…Always there…night sky…help me…part of me…

…Suggest shopping…stop by Gringots….shape me…sharp…pull me…harsh…

"We were once part of the…"

…Collateral…pills, wine…message Giselle…offer a massage, she likes those…

"Bring the accountant, we need to discuss…"

…Honey brown eyes…fruit, bread…breakfast…blasted phone…blasted woman…

…Nosy people, noise…order pizza…she likes pizza…

"Lord Parkinson has called…"

…Storms are coming…lightning, evening…dress from cleaners…

"Draco…"

SHIT.

"The Parkinson's, Draco. The Parkinson's. You incompetent fool." Lucius glared coldly at his bleary eyed son. His lips curling back into a sneer as Draco struggled to sit up.

Draco straightened. "Yes, the Parkinson's." His head tried to quickly sort through thought and what had drifted in-between his thoughts from the outside world—from his father. "I understood you the first time, father." He blinked the daydream-like thoughts away—like the obedient swish of windshield wipers, clearing his sight.

Lucius growled slightly. "You…son…were not paying attention."

Draco cleared his throat, his gray eyes hardening. "You want the accountant in here, tomorrow at nine, to advise Lord Parkinson in light of his new dilemma."

Lucius's eyes watched his son, ever critical. "And I've invited him and his family to dinner, to the Manor. A dinner, Draco, that you _will_ be attending."

"And…"

The smirk that crossed Lucius's face was much like that of his son's. "And you will make pleasantries with their daughter, now won't you."

"For what purpose?"

"I would expect a smart boy such as yourself to know the answer to that one."

Draco's disgust was so strong it showed blatantly on his face, his father frowned. "The Parkinson's are a powerful family Draco."

Draco nodded. "Yes, and their daughter just so happens to be a whore."

Lucius shrugged, indifferent. "You have your unpleasant qualities, Draco. You two will be a perfect match."

"Will, father?"

Lucius nodded, with a flick of his wand, the paperwork he and his son had been mulling over disappeared. "Don't be late." He warned, leaving the office.

* * *

Lucius slowly fed the letter, the proof of his son's disobedience, into the flames. He didn't shed a tear of remorse as he watched the paper turn black and crumble.

Ashes.

He would make ashes of his son's lies. Returning to his desk, he settled himself in the high backed chair, before taking a second sheet from the envelope.

_If I had you,_

_I remember the night when this all began. Not the meeting, though that night stands out in my memory with such force that I often dream of it. No, I meant the night when we promised to join each other in death._

_Join me in death. You called to me, as I sat there, on the balcony._

_Join me in death, you promised, it was for the best._

_Join me in death; it's not the last, the last of everything_

_For in death, you said, we would have it all._

_Remember the song, you heard it somewhere, I don't remember where. I'm not even sure if it was a song. But you heard it and you wrote it down for me, sending it to me during Potions. How very daring you were!_

_Of course, you weren't stealthy enough—but I must admit, Professor Snape kept a hawk's eye on the trio. So, I would have been surprised had you succeeded in passing a letter to me in his class._

_When you received that detention, I was sure you and Potter would fight it—you two always did, he more so than you. You usually crept back into your shell, hurt and let Snape's insults bounce off your shell._

_You wound up with that nights detention with Potter and I couldn't stand the fact that we weren't going to be having our 'rendezvous'. So I went and landed myself my own detention. And to doubly punish me, they sent me off to serve it with you two. Little did they know, eh? That was exactly what I wanted._

_I remember the look on your face when I entered the room, where you and Potter were already diligently cleaning up the mess Peeves had made the week before. I thought your eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. Potter, of course, just had to notice this._

* * *

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed accidentally dropping the brush he'd been using to scrub _ever-sticky stinky silly string_ from the floor.

"Potter! Now that we all know each other," Malfoy waved his hand idly in their direction. "Continue on."

Harry grimaced, picking up the wire brush he'd dropped. "Watch it, Malfoy." He murmured softly.

Hermione patted his shoulder, earning a glare from the Slytherin, her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Detention, Malfoy?"

"Why yes, Granger," his sneer wasn't as awful as it had been in the past, it was almost as if he enjoyed the verbal sparring. "As a matter of fact, I am in detention. Fancy you being here though." He sneered at Potter who moved protectively towards Granger, his pale lips curling, showing off his perfect white teeth. "Being Miss Perfect and all."

Harry stood stiffly, expecting mudblood to follow at any moment. He'd curse that blond to hell and back if he so much as muttered it, he would not allow Hermione to be subjected to that any longer.

But it never came.

Hermione only shrugged. "I'm surprised that you're surprised."

Harry put his hands on Hermione's shoulders, pulling her away from the blond. "You want to take the corner over there, Malfoy?" Harry nodded his head towards a corner filled with dirt and the ever-sticky stinky silly string. "It has your name written all over it." His eyes sparkled with amusement as he watched the blond survey the corner, jumping back slightly in shock.

"By myself?" Draco asked aloud, forgetting himself. His eyes darted quickly to Hermione before his face fell back into a sneer. Draco eyed Harry slowly. "You need to get your prescription modified, Potter. I don't see my name anywhere in that corner." He took a step back from it for good measure. "I have no idea what it would be doing over there in the first place—the Malfoy name would not reside in such squalor."

"You really are a pompous ass, aren't you?" Harry pushed Hermione further away, confusion coursing through his veins—everything was off. "You can have fun on that side of the room. We're going to work over here."

"You want to draw me a map as well?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the pair of them. "Could you two at least try to get along?" she picked up a wire brush, handing it to Draco. "I know you're both too immature, but try. Please?" She watched their faces.

Harry blinked, dumbly.

Draco smirked.

"I see." Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Too much to ask for, obviously."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione, it's Malfoy!" But she held up a hand, shaking her head.

"You two work over there. Together." She glared as their mouths opened in protest—satisfied that just that look shut them both up. "I don't want to hear anything but work related noises for at least a half hour."

The two boys stared in shock as she turned away from them. Mumbling.

"Stupid…" They blinked. "Ignorant prats…" Harry sneaked a glance to the boy on his right and was surprised to see a pained expression on the Slytherin's face. "Get along…strangle..."

Draco turned away first, dipping his wire brush into a bucket of some unknown solution, and began to clean.

Harry could only shake his head and do the same.

Something was different. Something was off.

* * *

…_After we managed to clean off that disgusting stringy stuff, I did my very best to piss off Potter. It didn't take much, I'd been systematically working at him throughout the three hours of disgusting manual labor I'd been made to endure. And it wasn't long before he was off in a huff. You wouldn't talk to me afterwards._

_I couldn't believe that you didn't understand why I had done it—I needed to be with you so badly, alone with you._

_I needed you so bad I would risk your wrath just to have you to myself..._

_The minute Potter was out of sight, I felt the whole world brighten. I was with you, alone with you…and that was the best feeling—even if you weren't talking to me._

_I took out the piece of paper responsible for your detention and asked you to explain it to me. I thought there would be an explanation behind it._

_But you wouldn't so much as look at me._

_And that hurt._

_Do you know how much you hurt me then? We went outside afterward. I had begun to think of the outdoors as our secret meeting place, even if there was no exact spot that we frequented._

_We walked as we always did, me trying my best to get you to say anything. But you are rather stubborn when you want to be. Back then and even now. If you weren't stubborn I wouldn't be writing you now. No, I'd be holding you to me. And I wouldn't be letting go._

_But you won't let me do that. You refuse to look at me, to talk to me—just as you did all those years ago._

_Merlin! Sometimes I don't understand this. How is it I was to end up with you? Had I known all those years ago, when we began Hogwarts, would I have acted as I did? Or would I have been worse, knowing what was to come?_

_I know that I am far from perfect, you would be the first to point those imperfections out to me, but then you would tell me how those were what you loved._

_You loved my flaws._

_And I loved yours. I love yours. I think this is why I pushed you so much and so far and so quickly at the beginning. I pushed you to Giselle and I pushed you to make that promise and I pushed you, I pushed you to love me._

_But I don't want to push you anymore. I want you here, beside me._

_I guess, in the end, all I want is…_

_Come back home, please. Come back._

_I want so much to be honest with you, believe me. Merlin, I want nothing more than you to come back to me._

_Love,_

_I don't care if you never wanted me to say this, it is true and I want you to believe me._

_Draco_

* * *

Harry grimaced over his morning cup of coffee as he sorted through a pile of mail. He had paid it no mind—he hadn't paid much mind to anything. Nothing mattered except for Hermione.

Merlin, he missed her! Had it been too much to ask for? Hermione meant more to him than a majority of the people Harry called friends. They'd watched out for each other, taken care of one another. Then…they'd graduated from Hogwarts and Hermione had begun to disappear from their lives.

Or had she been disappearing long before that?

Harry chucked an envelope written in Ginny's loopy handwriting behind him. He _hated _her! She would stop at nothing to take everything from him—every piece of Hermione that he had Ginny wanted for herself—to make him miserable. That was her ultimate goal, Harry was sure. If Ginny couldn't have him, she would ruin the memory of Hermione.

Harry leaned forward, abandoning the mail for a train of thought that haunted him. This man in Hermione's life...was he the reason she pulled away from them?

Was it the man's fault? Or was he projecting? Blaming another innocent person for his own inaction?

His thoughts were exhausting. Mentally fried, Harry collapsed on the couch, his coffee table littered with the many gifts Hermione had given him over the years.

There was the now old broomstick care kit. He remembered his glee at the thoughtful present from Hermione. He'd thought it would be a book, but he never realized that Hermione knew them all so well. She'd known a book wasn't something they would treasure. She saw what people needed, wanted, loved. She'd known them. As Harry picked up the small snitch she'd given him for graduation his heart clenched painfully. She'd put so much thought, so much care, into the gifts she gave him.

He ran his fingers over a first edition Quidditch Through the Ages. He flipped open the cover where he knew the letter she'd sent was stored. He felt tears as he picked it up.

_Harry,_

_I was out with a friend and happened across this in a bookshop specializing in rare books. And what timing, too, as your birthday was coming soon! I've been searching for something special, after all it is the one-year anniversary of our graduation. Can you believe it? One whole year on our own? I've been so busy! Time really does fly! We must get together sometime soon._

_I'm very sorry that I won't be able to make it to your birthday celebration this year. But think of me when you are flipping through this, it has really pretty pictures! Just kidding, my friend._

_Love always,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I heard Ron was promoted! I'm sure his parents are very proud of him._

Folding the letter, Harry placed it back, closing the cover. He'd loved every gift she'd given him. They were his most priceless possessions next to those of his parents. He valued them more than he did his broom.

And what had he ever given her?

Harry tried to remember, but he couldn't think of anything. Nothing. He'd never given her a thoughtful gift. He'd never thought to do so.

Slowly, his anger rose as he stared at the stack of gifts. Beside it were items he'd taken from Hermione's home.

The book of poems lay innocently on top, mocking him.

Someone had been thoughtful.

Someone had known what to get Hermione, what would make her smile. Someone had known what she would treasure.

Folded over a chair were clothes he'd taken from her closet...clothes that didn't seem to belong. Four dresses in total.

One, Ginny had found. The other three, Harry found folded in a box on a shelf in the closet.

The one Ginny had found could have been worn to a work party, perhaps. Harry wasn't sure. But it screamed social niceties. He shook his head. Hermione hadn't attended any parties thrown by her office. So where had she worn this?

His hand traced the intricate beadwork. Had it been the man's idea? Had he dragged Hermione along with him to one of _his_ work parties?

Harry's anger rose and he dropped the dress onto the floor.

Turning to the three he found, he pulled up his favorite. He could imagine how beautiful Hermione had been when she wore it. He could almost see the dancing that must have taken place. Had she smiled, had the dress made her feel as beautiful as she was?

He slowly lifted the dark green dress from the pile, a ball gown. Along with it he'd found a jeweled mask and fan. Had it been worn to an halloween party, a masquerade ball?

Harry wanted so much to have been there, to look after her. She'd been living a life without him; she'd been hiding a life from him.

A life with someone else—someone who was more than a friend, someone who knew her secrets, her loves, what she hated…everything.

How long? How long had she been with this person? How was it they never knew? How could she hide this from him?

The third dress was what confused Harry. Lifting it lightly he sat back on the couch, letting the dress drape over his knees.

From what he knew, what he believed, it was a wedding dress.

And he didn't believe it had ever been worn.

* * *

"You're sending me there because you feel guilty!" Hermione screamed her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Draco rubbed his closed eyes, slowly trying to ease the tension inside his head. "Hermione." He whispered, his voice unsteady. "I am sending you there so that I don't have to worry about you. I'll know where you are…and that you are safe."

Hermione scoffed. "Guilty conscious getting to you?"

Draco's hand dropped to his side and he opened his eyes—peering intently at the woman across from him. "Do you really think that? Do you honestly believe that?" He watched her tremble. It was so wrong of him to ask this of her, so wrong to be doing this. He knew this. But there was no other way. No way out.

"Just leave me alone." Hermione mumbled as she walked unsteadily from the room.

Slowly, Draco followed her to the kitchen. Her back was to him, her shoulders shaking.

"I told you, I have to go." Using his arms, he trapped her between his body and the counter. "But…" He whispered into her ear as he wrapped her in his arms. "That doesn't mean I have any intention in pursuing Pansy." He felt her relax against him and he sighed heavily. "I have everything I want, right here."

* * *

_If I had you,_

_Things I was taught: there is nothing money cannot buy. Rid yourself of emotions. Tie yourself to those who hold power. Manipulate the system._

_I'm sure there are more. But the one I want to talk about is the first._

_There was a time when I believed this. Actually, I believed this up until the day you left me._

_I still cannot believe you left me. I have always been the one to walk away. And then, you leave me._

_I didn't see it coming. Though, I should have. I know I was an idiot. You had every right to say what you did—to react as you did. But, I thought you'd understand._

_I guess, I always just thought you'd understand—always believe me—without explanation from me pertaining to my actions._

_But I always wanted from you an explanation, I always wanted reassurance. I never gave you that in return. Not when you really wanted it, not when you really needed it. Can you forgive me?_

_Love,_

_Draco_

Lucius crumpled the third letter of deceit, his fist closing around it hard as if he could drain the life from his already dead son's body. His fingers trembled, his breathing short and shallow.

How dare his son write such things! His face contorted, a twitch developed deep in the skin above his eye.

Giselle had told him he'd taken his son's happiness.

Lucius knew now.

He'd taken this girl—if it was even a girl—his stomach clenched at the thought. He'd taken this person from his son, Giselle had said so.

This had to be Draco's happiness.

Slowly, Lucius managed to unclench his fingers. Even slower, he smoothed the wrinkled paper.

Giselle would take his happiness. In return, he might learn the name of this mystery girl his son had written so openly to.

All he had to give up was his happiness.

And what use was happiness anyway? It didn't buy you food, or power or a roof over your head. It did not buy you loyalty. It did not buy you information. Lucius was never happy. He loved nothing—giving up his happiness, what was the worst that could happen?

His son had died. His son had died without his happiness.

Lucius did not fear death.

Instead he turned his attention to a certain broken figurine that sat among items he'd taken from Draco's room. He eyed it suspiciously before searching the shelves that lined all four walls. Silently, he pulled a book from one, flipping through the pages slowly. Waiting. Watching. Searching.

_Careful now, I'm made of glass_

_Do not touch, not much, I can not last_

_Careful now, hush, be silent_

_Words can be so violent_

_Careful now, I do not wish to break_

_Final is, as final make_

_Broken glass, I won't last_

Lucius held the broken figurine and wondered. What had his son done to break something so fragile yet so steady, so sturdy?

He reread the poem he'd pulled from the book, _Classic Figurines, Spells Left on Heirlooms (mid- 1800s)_. The figurine was a family heirloom, priceless. It could be of their family line, but Lucius wasn't sure. Heirlooms without a darkness to them hadn't interested him.

It was worth nothing.

Except to his son. Lucius gently set down the figurine, gazing at a photo of Draco taken by his wife the year before. For the first time he wished he'd known his son.

* * *

"I thought you'd gone." Hermione murmured. She felt warm hands circling her and snuggled closer.

Draco smiled in the darkness. "I didn't want to leave just yet." He sighed as she lazily laced their fingers, pulling him closer. Knowing her mind was clouded by sleep, he rested his head on the pillow next to hers, holding her close.

In her half-sleep Hermione murmured. "I love you."

Draco's heart leapt, his ears straining. He half hoped he'd imagined the words.

He'd waited so long.

He'd worried.

Had she said them?

As he moved restlessly he felt her body tense, when he relaxed against her, her body did the same.

Maybe, Draco mused, in sleep Hermione could be completely honest with him—when awake, she kept her secrets.

But in sleep…

In sleep, she loved him.


	21. Two Halves

**Ugly**

**Two Halves**

* * *

Draco watched delicate fingers grip the slick ivory of the quill dipping it lightly into a waiting well of ink. Now they hovered, quill at the ready, over a roll of yellowing parchment.

Her fingers were exquisite.

Delicate. Soft. His eyes traced the slender lines, delving into the shadowed creases created by the flickering candlelight. The open window supplied the nights cool breeze, which swept through, shaking the stillness of the room and caressing the skin he dared not touch.

She shivered, her shoulders closing in...closing her off from the world.

With a few carefully planned steps he could see the smooth loops of her writing as her wrist deftly moved across the parchment. The ink glistened brightly before fading, dulling, drying—permanently set.

He knew he had an ungodly fascination with her hands. He knew this was wrong. But the feelings, the aching, the soft tug at the very core of his being kept him coming back. Only being able to watch...and hope.

She let the quill drop and it clattered softly to the tabletop. Loose curls grazed her words as she read over her work. Draco felt something inside of him clinch, tears wanted—insisted—to form at the corners of his eyes.

All of this.

The damn never ending weight of his feelings, too many to name...from watching.

Fingers curled around the quill and she continued her writing, apparently satisfied with her first analysis.

He'd offered so many things, so many ways. She'd refused him.

As quietly as he could manage, he moved behind her. It was a slow process of step…wait…step…listen, a sneaky process.

He wasn't allowed in this room.

Not when she was gone. And Merlin forbid when she was here. Or so he had been warned all those years ago.

But months of loneliness, of waiting, of hoping, of wishing…

He was no longer cold—to her. He was no longer heartless—to her. He was no longer afraid of the trials of life—with her. But Merlin! He couldn't take this much longer. He just couldn't.

He couldn't.

His heart thudded in his chest as she halted. His breath hitched when she sighed, that sound alone enough to make him ache more than ever to gather her close.

To hold on tight. He'd convince her that everything could be all right. He would make her believe that there would _always_ be a tomorrow.

But she, as he'd been told so many times, was a practical person. Her response would always be skeptical...cynical.

Such a fucking pessimist! The anger rose in him unbidden. They had been on this roller coaster—a torrent of sharp felt emotions, barbed words and high priced promises—for so long. Too long.

Neither of them had the courage to jump off, but _she_ had the courage to unscrew the bolts that held them to the track and he knew that someday soon—they'd go flying.

He shook these thoughts from his mind—it was fucking stupid to ponder what you had no control over. Control…lacking control…undo-control! Why had he come here? He asked himself, loathing the feelings coursing through his body, his soul. Curiosity, want, need…he listed a few of the things he so desperately wanted.

Curiosity because she was hiding again. Something she shouldn't try with him. They were different now, didn't she realize that you couldn't hide from someone you had revealed your heart to?

He wondered now, if she would ever give him her heart—something he dearly wanted.

What would she say if she caught him here? Would she call him a nosy bigot—as she'd come to favor when angry with him. He'd taken offense to this. Most, if not all, of his bigotry remarks and views had faded with time, with acceptance, with growth.

He wasn't the same asshole that he once was, but that was the picture of him she took with her. Never forgetting or forgiving what he used to be.

If he continued with his thinking he was sure to give himself an aneurysm or worse...break his loosely tied resolve. There was little keeping him from grabbing her, keeping her, brainwashing her into submission. His well-known smirk flittered into place as he contemplated the last. That would be considerably easy. Almost as easy as it had been to gain access to this forbidden fortress of a room. His eyes sparked with boyish mischief. After all, he'd expected his head to be promptly severed the second he peeked the afore-mentioned appendage into the room. He wasn't _allowed_ anywhere near here when she was working. The rows and piles of neatly rolled parchment lay in an organized heap. What they were she had never told him. It was private, apparently. And in time, she'd said. He would know.

He'd respected that, her and this place...until now. He was so alone now. He couldn't stand it.

He hadn't seen her for days. He had to check on her, right? It was the only logical thing to do. Malfoy's did not like the stench of decaying bodies…Draco winced as an image of Hermione, lifeless—a product of his wretched imagination—seared his eyes open.

Her face so pale, so very pale. Her mouth open, but not for breath. Her neck, her beautiful neck twisted and grotesque, and a single, seemingly elegant trail of blood that had slipped down the curves and hallows of her face.

He swallowed, a swallow that almost became a gag as his nerves ran rapid. "No." he whispered in agony.

Too late, he realized he'd spoken aloud. He froze as Hermione whirled around, her eyes wide in shock.

"How?" She glanced from him, to the door, to him again. "Draco?"

He tensed, knowing he'd disobeyed her, violated her trust. Angry words were the next logical step.

His eyes closed, bracing his heart for the coming lashing...but it didn't come. Instead, he felt her warm fingers grasp him, folding into the delicate cloth of his invisibility cloak and pulling it away. He didn't open his eyes, not wanting to see her anger, not again. Instead, he felt her arms wrap around him and the pressure of her forehead against his chest. His heart clenched with hope rather than sorrow as he placed his lips to her head, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." Hermione's voice was muffled against him, but he heard her. He heard her. "I am so sorry."

* * *

Draco sat at his table, scowling. The atmosphere of the restaurant was perfect. The colors, the lighting, but that damn racket had to stop!

He heard laughter, rambunctious chatter. And it was damn fucking annoying! How was anyone supposed to enjoy his dinner with that noise?

The business meeting had ended well. He'd gotten his way—Draco smirked at the empty seat across from him, mentally filling in the outline of the man who had sat. And by _man_ Draco was referring to sheer size. In all actuality, Mr. Dunforth displayed little of the qualities Draco himself considered befitting for a gentleman_._ Draco shivered, he really needed to stop his little thinking tirades. He needed to get a fucking life.

The laughter came again, this time followed by a very familiar voice. "Man, I thought mum was going to bust me so bad. We should do that again."

Was it his imagination, or was that none other than a certain redheaded idiot? Draco discerned that the _racket _was coming from behind the half wall that divided the restaurant into sections.

"And that time we tried to turn old Errol into a cake, 'cause we were hungry?"

Ugh! Draco didn't find any of this appealing. For Merlin's sake he was trying to eat his damn dinner! He didn't need to be hearing this!

"What you guys would do for food. It's pathetic."

Draco blinked. Again, was that not the voice of yet another redheaded freak?

"I do believe oh miss-better-than-us, that you were the one who suggested it in the first place!"

Rubbing his temples, Draco tried to tune them out. He was getting a headache.

"You'd be right."

Fuck! Draco was positive that the voice was none other than the youngest Weasley. What the hell were they doing here? And why the hell couldn't they keep it the bloody hell down? Why all the laughter? Why all the…loudness? Draco wanted to cover his ears as yet another uproar could be heard. He groaned. "Just my luck."

"What about the time Harry and you and Penn got up and danced the Macarena?"

Was the whole bloody Gryffindor house having a reunion in _his_—his mind you—restaurant?

"You guys were so bad, I thought we'd get kicked out of the club! Do you remember that, Hermione? Merlin, they were awful."

Draco's fork clattered to his plate. Hermione? Granger was here?

"No. I don't remember. Excuse me."

Draco stood abruptly, forgetting his uneaten dinner. He hurried—at an acceptable pace—after a certain brown haired woman. She stopped a good deal away from her table, leaning against a wall.

It didn't take him long to notice the slight shaking of her shoulders.

"Doesn't look like this is a place to cry." Draco murmured softly.

Hermione whirled around, her eyes bright, her face full of crushed—crushed what, he wasn't sure. "Why is it always you?"

That was a good question. Some things just seemed to happen. He brushed his hair from his face, a gesture of habit. "Because, I've always been here."

Her eyes closed briefly, smiling—before it fell away into one of pain as the table she had left erupted once more.

Draco could almost feel the neglect she surely felt—the hurt. It wasn't right, no one should have to feel that way. Her breaths were coming in staggering gasps now. He couldn't take. Slowly, cautiously, he held out his hand, begging her to take it.

And amazingly, she did. His own eyes shone with surprise before he smiled down at her.

He led her to his table, where he quickly paid for the meal.

He watched Hermione shake her head at his wastefulness, but he only laughed.

It wasn't long before he'd led her outside, never once releasing her hand.

"Where are we going?"

Draco gripped her hand tightly, his eyes scanning the street and buildings ahead of them. "I'm not sure." He glanced at Hermione. She wasn't wearing much considering the fall chill that hinted of winter. "Are you cold?" She nodded and Draco finally released her hand, his own growing cold as he removed his jacket. "Here."

He wanted her to be warm. He wanted her to be safe.

"Thanks."

Watching her as they walked, Draco realized how much he'd missed seeing her. It had been—well, it had been a while since they'd met, by accident or appointment.

The trees were annoying, blowing, rustling. He'd prefer it to be quiet. Still. But at least the stars were out—clear. Everything was so much brighter near winter. So much brighter.

Draco glanced at the woman by his side. "Why did you go out with them tonight?" He stopped walking, not giving her a chance to run away. They stood at the edge of a pond, moonlight reflecting into their faces. His gaze held hers intently.

She closed her eyes, "I want…"

Her voice trailed off and Draco took a step closer, taking her arm. "What do you want?" He hated the urgency that filled his voice. But he couldn't help it. She made him like this. She made him want to lunge into some form of action, to do something—anything—anything to…Draco swallowed. Anything to make her happy.

Hermione finally met his gaze, and Draco found her eyes to be full of acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that this wish would never come true.

"I want to belong." she told him softly. "I want my friends to understand me, and love me, and be with me. I want to be able to share stories, and laugh, and…be happy."

Draco took her hand, lacing their fingers. Yet, his posture stiffened as he looked down at her bowed head. "Anything else?"

Her smile did nothing to hide the haunted look that had overcome her features. Her eyes glinting. Draco almost laughed, "I, like most everyone, wants someone at my side."

"You know…"

She laughed. "No, I usually don't know."

Draco looked away, smiling. The simple task seemed to be more effort than it was truly worth. "You know," he said again. "I want that too."

"You want that, too." Hermione's voiced echoed softly in the silence.

Draco brushed back a loose strand of silky hair, placing it behind her ear. Her hair was so soft. It took strength to drop that hand back to his side. He sighed, hoping that somehow, the right words, any words, would come to describe these alien wants.

"I want someone who understands me." True enough, what he needed was someone who understood that he was _not_ perfect. Physically…he smirked, he had to say he _was_ perfect. But his personality was less than desirable. "Understand that I can be an asshole, that I am most of the time." She was grinning. He loved her smile, the way it brightened the world around her. "I want someone who…" Oh Merlin, could he possibly say this without sounding like a total sap? "Someone who loves me, faults and all." Because Merlin knows I've got enough of those.

He couldn't bear to look at her. He watched the ripples cross the lake—some disturbance out of his sight causing the waves of dark water that lightly licking the shore.

He heard her start, stop and then finally. "You'll find someone."

He couldn't help it. The smirk was just a part of his nature. "Funny, I thought I had."

The surprise on her face was enough to banish his bad mood for the remainder of the month. Draco laughed, hoping that, for once, she didn't take it the wrong way.

"Me?" she asked, the skepticism not hidden.

Draco nodded, a twinkle in his gray eyes. "No. Your evil twin."

He watched her grin, a child's grin. Ah, so she _is_ the smartest witch of the age!

"Oh, her. Well yeah, she's pretty cool."

The both laughed, laughed into the night. He turned to her, eyes shining bright, laughter still ringing through the air he took her hand. It was so warm, fitting perfectly within his own. "Come home with me."

But she was shaking her head. "No."

"Can I go home with you?"

He loved the look of shock on her face. Obviously, his reputation preceded him. He almost couldn't stand straight, as he knew exactly where her brilliant brain was taking this.

"Malfoy?"

He grinned—cockily, yes, but he really couldn't help it. "Yeah?" He tried to keep the laughter from his voice, to leave it with that silky sexiness that he knew it held.

"Have you been sexually deprived lately?"

No. But the thing was, he didn't enjoy those quick flings. Nor was he proud of them. Every time, as the numbers piled up one after another, he seemed to lose a part of himself. Perhaps it was his soul. _If I even have one._ Or perhaps he wasn't losing a part of himself, but was losing hope. Hope that someone wouldn't be a fling. A hope that someone would be beside him every morning when he woke. And with each passing failure, he was losing hope that it was even possible. That he was worthy, worthwhile, or even wanted for more than his body. Or that he believed himself to be worth more than his body. Was he? _Am I?_

Draco shook his head, trying hard to get those damn thoughts to leave. "Not at all Granger."

She scowled at him. Merlin! What only a look from her could do. "Okay, because you sound a little desperate."

Suddenly, he wasn't laughing—but he wasn't offended. He didn't want her to think that. He didn't see her that way. "I wasn't joking. And I didn't mean to imply that all I wanted was sex."

"Way to be blunt."

"You started it."

She sighed and he felt himself tense, ready to fight. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Draco grinned, tension running out of him just as fast as it had come. "There you go." He said proudly. "I win." He jabbed a finger at himself playfully.

She just shook her head, rolling her eyes she took his hand again and started walking. "Whatever."

"So…your place or mine?"

"I don't understand you."

He nodded, still grinning widely "That's okay. Not many people do." He loved her look of skepticism. "Okay, no one does. But hey, that's part of my charm." _I'm mysterious._

"What charm?"

"Ouch that hurt." Draco wrapped his arm around her waist. Would she let him, let his hand stay there? He waited, but she didn't seem to mind. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt her comply, coming closer. He smiled softly, whispering as they walked, he needed to explain something…something that had nothing to do with his charm. But he needed to say it. And he needed to say it now. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I was in a bad mood, then I saw you at the restaurant and now…"

"And now you're wishing you hadn't come up to me."

He was choosing to ignore that. He'd heard the tone in her voice. She knew. "Somehow, you make me feel better. Happy." His voice was so soft, he didn't know if he could possibly talk louder. "You are beautiful, Hermione."

She rested her head on his shoulder as they walked, her hand clutched tightly in his. "Faults and all?"

"Faults and all."

* * *

And now, her head was again pressed against his chest. So much had happened. He was still alive. And so was she. Somewhat together. Somewhat happy.

He felt her tears as they breached cloth to reach his skin. He held her tighter and she…

She wrapped her arms around him, bringing them closer. Heat twined its way through his body, a winding stream of hope as he tried to let go of the worries he'd kept so tightly inside him. He was shivering and he couldn't stop.

But he knew he needn't explain.

She knew. They both knew. They were lost without the other.


	22. Two Halves Part 2

**Ugly**

**Two Halves**

**The Forever Moments

* * *

**

_Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real

* * *

_

She had become a fiend of the night—a shadow among shadows, her soul adrift. She was becoming nothing…again.

It had started with lies. Small lies, large lies, they piled up higher and higher, a precarious wall of tragedy. It had started with pushing. Silently, she had pushed him away, farther from her heart, her body, her home. It had started with violent words, cruel and wounding. Fighting was more frequent than not. And then it stopped. Because he stopped, the distance between them widening.

And then she disappeared.

Gone like a wisp of cloud, burned by the sun's fiery rays. She was nothing. She was of the nevermore. Hadn't she been warned?

These moments of hate were what he remembered most vividly. He remembered the fights, the nights where he found himself in the cold, unable to sleep, unable to find comfort.

The memories kept him from the bliss of unconsciousness. It was grueling, the toll of fighting them had left him weak and open to the feelings he tried to destroy. His mind, wracked with grief, played memory after memory…not a single one of the joyous moments he knew were there…somewhere. Instead, he was subjected to the memories from which nightmares formed.

He wished for his happiness.

He wished for that moment.

And only that moment.

It was this moment that fed upon his soul, burrowing into his very core. Taking from him what was once hope and leaving despair in its place. It fed upon his soul as the seconds ticked by and burrowed deep inside him at night.

He'd known. He'd known from the beginning that they had no chance. No hope.

From the start, they were ending.

Why had he ever attempted to believe they had a chance?

Closing his eyes he relented, confessing to himself that he had set himself up for this misery. Life was a collage of paths spun within an intricate cage. You weren't supposed to get out. When the ultimate fruit of life was within their grasp, when love was at hand, the path veered sharply, tearing them from the fragile hold they held with reality. Vines formed of their fears held them apart as they struggled. Thorns formed of their lies and tore into tender skin. They couldn't reach love, not even when it is but a confession away.

They were too far gone.

His tears were something he'd grown accustomed to. Trailing a silky path down his skin, skin that had forgotten how it felt to be touched.

* * *

Particular men grow stronger from grief. Others result to methods they had once condemned.

Ron scanned the paper for what he knew would be there. If, that is, Dean valued his life. Which he did, Ron thought as he spotted it at the bottom of the page. The retraction held an apology for printing the story concerning the death of Hermione Granger, before the authorities finished their investigation.

Ron, while concerned with the life Hermione had apparently lived, knew that it was more important for her memory to remain true.

She may have had secrets and unforeseen problems. But at heart, Hermione had the soul of an angel. She was a loving, helping, and selfless person.

No amount of secrets uncovered was going to change that.

She'd been a staple for him, a person he'd looked to for strength. Harry had looked to her as well. Even his sister, in her own twisted way, needed Hermione.

She was gone. Her loss punched a hole in the fabric of their lives, leaving them no choice but to face what they had become. Hermione might have disapproved of his methods, but he knew the benefits of clearing her name far outweighed the political bribery he'd resulted to. She hadn't seen the downward spiral their lives had taken. She hadn't seen the same loss affecting everyone whose life she'd touched.

Ron couldn't help but think how close he'd come to following her…to step into the bottomless abyss. But his family and the memory of everything Hermione had embodied had brought him back.

Without Hermione, it was Ron who had to step up. It was Ron who would hold them together.

He could do it, Ron knew he could be strong. He would do it for himself, for Harry, for Ginny…and for Hermione.

He was sure, she would have been proud of him.

* * *

Waking, Harry listened to the dull hum of electricity. He rolled over, staring at the necklace he'd laid on the bedside table. She'd worn it close to her heart. Everyday, taking the importance of her promise with her. He reached for it, his thumb rubbing over the delicate metal.

Hermione had been so organized with her diary for dates and engagements, birthdays and parties. She'd always know what was coming. Could always plan for it, ready to smile and lie. She'd even known his schedule. Hadn't she been the one to remind him of the charity ball he'd been required to attend?

More often than not, it was because of her that he made it to the events at all.

A few times, she'd had to take care of him when he was less than coherent. And it was those times that he was ashamed of most. Because the last time she'd helped him had been one of _those _times.

* * *

His head was pounding—an unbearable reminder of the days activities. He groaned as someone walked around his home loudly. Too loudly, couldn't they learn not to stomp around like a bleeding heard of elephants? Every shade was closed, the darkness keeping his retinas from exploding. But the pounding elephants were getting closer and suddenly there was light. It speared through him like the killing curse making him scream murder. His head did explode. As did his temper "Damn the fuck, close the blinds!" He shouted, his voice hoarse as he stumbled around in a drunken attempt to…well, he was just stumbling around drunk. There was no attempt to do anything.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Hermione? He was about thirty percent certain that it was her. Harry squinted, ignoring the shards of silver and black that was his vision—he could make out hair, brown, breasts…female…must be Hermione. If it wasn't, he couldn't be bothered to care.

He couldn't even be bothered to answer. He just held his head in his hands and moaned.

"Merlin, Harry…why did you go and get hammered? Today, especially."

Harry found his way to the edge of his bed and collapsed, silently applauding Hermione for knowing what exactly his ailment was and using it in a sentence. She was such a smart witch.

"Haven't you ever been?" Harry asked miserably. He had been drunk last night and most of today.

Hermione made a small sound of disapproval, but didn't answer his question. Harry suddenly found himself very alone. He scanned the room fervently, his vision to spun in the oddest of directions. There had been a person in here! He'd been sure. It had been…he thought for a second. Hermione! Yes, Hermione had been in his room just a second before. Or had she?

His head was screaming, a rampaging hag was ripping his brain apart and throwing the chunks at his sanity.

He heard footsteps again, quieter this time, and soon felt a cold, wet cloth being placed on his flushed skin.

A moment later he felt smooth hands running a second cloth over his cheeks and down his neck, a wake of cold that was a godsend. Gentle hands pushed him back on the bed. A pillow propped up his head and then he felt the slight weight as someone sat beside him. Light fingers trailing through his hair soothingly.

Harry chanced a look at the world and sighed with relief, his vision was clear of silver and black, but still burry. Blurry he could handle.

Sleep tugged at him and who was he to resist?

He'd dreamed of Hermione. They'd been in love. Not the platonic love that they both held for each other, either. It was a deeper love, one that made his insides ache.

And he'd woken alone.

His headache was gone, but shame was quick to take its place. He'd been drunk, idiotically so, and he'd…Hermione didn't need to see him that way. Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and went to draw the shades, letting the dying rays of day wash over him.

He dressed in his accustomed jeans and t-shirt, before padding barefoot into his kitchen where he found a note in Hermione's delicate hand.

_Harry,_

_When you wake, I hope you are feeling better. I had come by to remind you of your dinner date with the editors of the Daily Prophet…but I plan to cancel it for you. So don't worry about it. I'll reschedule the meeting and notify you of the date next time I see you. Oh, and by the way, I won't hold that kiss against you._

_There's a potion in your refrigerator, take that with the food I left for you as well (it's right next to the potion). No more binge drinking!_

_Love Always,_

_Hermione_

Harry shook his head grinning. You'd have thought she was his personal assistant rather than his best friend.

Kiss? His mind thought in shock as he reread the note.

He went to the fridge, taking out the potion and neatly prepared meal Hermione had left, with yet another note attached.

_This was all I had at home, I hope it's something you'll eat._

Harry placed the food and potion on the counter, his hands going to either side as he hung his head. His mind was wrapped up and around and caught in the fragments of a dream that he couldn't forget—yet couldn't remember. Why had he had it in the first place? Why wasn't his brain working?

Because, you idiot, you drank too much. Harry gave his conscious a quick fuck off and thought of stabbing it a few times with a conveniently available steak knife.

He unwrapped the food, staring at it in wonderment.

He'd kissed her.

"Are you going to stay?" He'd asked, words slurring through sleep-taken lips.

Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "I'll be back later."

Harry closed his eyes.

"Would you like to get under the covers? It might be more comfortable." Hermione whispered as she moved to get up.

Harry nodded and he felt her softly tugging at his arm as he stood. She maneuvered him around and then back into the bed, pulling the comforter up around his shoulders, leaning over him.

"Comfortable?"

Harry opened his eyes, staring into brown globes; he reached up, pulling her face down to meet his.

Harry groaned. Why had he done that?

* * *

Months later, Harry still groaned at the memory. He'd been such a jerk the week after that. Why? Because he was afraid she'd say something, afraid she wouldn't and afraid that it had felt more right than anything he'd felt before.

He let the locket fall back onto the tabletop. He stood, calmly dressing as he eyed his form in the mirror. Could anyone see the obsession that festered beneath his skin?

The tap, tap, tapping of an owl caused him to look up..

Harry opened the window as a dark brown owl stepped in, letter tied to his foot in black string.

Harry eyed the owl cautiously—there was a feral, yet lifeless look in its eyes. The owl gave him a disgusted look before flying out the window.

The back was embossed with a seal. The light green emblem was raised. Harry traced the outlines of several names—a bank perhaps? He didn't recognize the name. Sitting down, he ripped the letter open.

_Rizen, Pea and Conifer, Protectors of Objects_

_Dear Sir,_

_Rizen, Pea and Conifer, Protectors of Objects are hereby notifying you that upon the death of one, Hermione Ann Granger, you are to receive the objects entrusted to us._

_Date of Protection began August 11, 1998._

_Termination of Protection set upon the death of Hermione Ann Granger._

_Next of kin entitlement was given to one Harry James Potter, 12 Isaacs Place, London._

_Rizen, Pea, and Conifer would greatly appreciate it that the next of kin come to our downtown office to receive the objects we are no longer at liberty to protect. Please bring proof of identity, this letter, and your wand. If further identification is needed, you will not be allowed to obtain the objects._

_Sincerely,_

_Rizen, Pea and Conifer, Protectors of Objects_

Harry's eyes widened. It didn't take him long before he was jumping into his fireplace.

* * *

Draco had known that Hermione was going to throw a fit. And he'd been right

"Would you calm down already!" Draco screamed, losing his temper despite his best efforts. For the love of Merlin she could fucking make him mad!

Hermione glowered, her brown hair still damp from a shower earlier, clung to her neck. Her flushed cheeks showed her anger, and her mouth was pinched in such a way that Draco knew led to a tongue-lashing.

"You think, Malfoy, that you can just waltz in and out of here, just like that? No explanation, and just expect me to…what, wait for your pansy ass to get home?" She jammed her finger into his shoulder. "We are not married. I have no obligation to you at all!"

Having Hermione's index finger imbedded in your muscle wasn't all that pleasant, Draco decided as he removed it, shoving the angry woman away from him

"First off, Granger, I did not waltz in, nor did I waltz out of here. I am here every morning and I come home every night—unlike someone I know!"

Hermione chose that moment to toss a rather hard object in his direction.

"You did not just do that!" Draco screamed. But Hermione was already searching for another missile.

Draco wasn't about to add personal injury to the hell he was already enduring. Coming up behind her he pinned her arms to her sides and toppled them both onto the bed, where he took her shocked state to his advantage, keeping her restrained.

"Do your friends know how violent you are? Or is this just special treatment that only I receive?"

"Get. Off. Of. Me." Hermione said through clenched teeth.

Draco shook his head. "You're going to listen to me. And you are going to stop fighting with me every god damned day! I'm tired of it!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"You've been taking that medication again, haven't you?"

"What's it to you?"

Draco shoved her down as she tried to throw him off. "I told you to stop taking them!"

"And that means something to me?"

"It bloody well should!"

He knew that his face reflected more than his anger…couldn't she see how much he cared?

Her stared at her face, the anger, the hate, the defiance…but there was something else. Fear, her lips trembled and her breath hitched from unreleased sobs.

Draco buried his face in her neck, brushing his lips against her throat, her cheek, her forehead. Finally making his way to her lips where he settled, planting slow, soft kisses to her lips. Her body relaxed and the fight drained from her muscles. Hands flit nervously over his shoulders.

Draco pulled her up and against him. He held her close, so close, his arms encompassing her. "I'm sorry," he whispered softly in her ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth.

He felt her shiver.

"No…" He heard her say, lower than a whisper. "I'm sorry."

She cupped his face in her hands, bringing their lips together briefly. They separated, sitting across from each other on the bed.

"So…" He brushed her hair with his fingers. "Should we start this conversation over?"

Hermione smiled awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. "I just…didn't want you to go. I'm sorry. It was childish, and…" Hermione stopped. "I don't want to blame the drugs, Draco."

Draco swallowed his feelings. "I understand. I really do, Hermione. But until you stop taking them, this is going to keep happening. You need to talk to me."

"I am jealous."

Draco knew it was true. But she shouldn't feel that way. "You are jealous. But for reasons you've made up in your head." He gripped her hands, running his thumbs across her sensitive skin. "Something you said earlier about waltzing in and out…Please, answer me honestly. Of the two of us, who is that?"

Hermione let out a sob, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

"You don't want me to leave you…" Draco's hands cupped her face. "So why do you do that to me?"

* * *

Harry stood in front of a building that seemed to disappear into an angry sky. Thunder rolled across his head—a drum roll to a death march. Harry took a deep breath and entered Rizen, Pea and Conifer's sliding glass doors.

The lobby was obsidian. Black walls and floors soaked up what little light a dusty chandelier was able to provide. His footsteps echoed through the empty lobby as he made his way to a single, black desk.

A man, whose clothing and hair matched the interior of the building, gazed up at him.

"Name?"

Harry bit his lip. "I'm not sure why I'm here but…"

"Name?"

Harry eyed the young man, unsure. "Err, Harry Potter?"

"Letter." A pale hand extended.

"Excuse me?"

The man nodded to the letter in Harry's hand.

"Oh, sorry. Here."

The man took the letter, scanning it. He pulled out a stamp from his desk and crushed it against the paper. Handing it back to Harry he told him to turn around.

"Um…"

The man remained motionless. "Turn around." He repeated.

He did as told and felt the effects of a spell work through his bones.

"I'm finished, Mr. Potter. You may now face the desk."

Harry did so.

"Through this door someone will be waiting to release objects into your custody."

Harry nodded and hurried through a door that appeared to his left, eager to get away from the young man whose mannerism mimicked someone who had their memory erased one too many times.

The door disappeared behind him and Harry found himself in a room that mirrored the one he'd left. The only difference being a table seated with two black chairs.

A man walked out of solid wall and sat in a chair, motioning for Harry to do the same.

"Harry Potter?" The man asked.

"Uh…yes."

The man nodded, flipping open a manila folder. "We represent a Hermione Ann Granger. Would you acknowledge that you know Hermione Ann Granger?"

Harry nodded. Was everyone here a nutcase?

"Ms. Granger has you listed under next of kin. We only release objects to the next of kin upon termination of the policy. In Ms. Granger's case, it was to be terminated upon the event of her death."

Harry swallowed. "I understand."

"We are from this point forward no longer responsible for the protection of the objects and they are now being transferred to you, Mr. Potter. Do you acknowledge this transfer?"

Nodding, Harry noticed a small slit in the table opening.

"Please withdraw objects from vault two thousand and thirty six." The man said to no one in particular. The slit in the table opened wider and a small whirring sound was heard before a box appeared and the slit closed.

"Mr. Potter, if you would collect the objects, you are free to leave." The man waited for Harry to stand and grab the box before he walked out.

He shifted the box in his arms, noticing the weight. What the hell had Hermione put in here and entrusted to a company full of personality-challenged people?

A door opened and Harry walked out. Back in the lobby, the receptionist pointed to a fireplace. It was then Harry noticed that the sliding glass doors he'd entered were no longer there.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder, Harry stepped into the flames.

The box he'd set in the center of his living room floor was open the contents lit by his Marilyn Monroe lamp—his high maintenance babe, as Hermione had named it. Harry circled it once, twice, his heart not quite wanting to do it—but his curiosity getting the better of him as it always had—overcoming reason and fear.

Inside, Harry peered at what were rolls of paper. He reached in, fingers curling around one of the rolls.

Sitting on the couch, he removed the string and unrolled the parchment.

-April 14-

I realized today that I have many personal issues that my parents do not understand—and that my psychiatrist would not quite understand. I admit that I have suicidal thoughts. I admit that I have thoughts of dying, and yes, I'm overly depressed by simple things. But I do not need to be seeing a psychiatrist to tell me these things. I also don't believe that this makes me an abnormal person. I don't act on these thoughts. Of course, I do have what my psychiatrist calls an emotional post. He would so laugh at me if I told him he was my emotional post.

I'm also going to admit something else. Every time I start writing to write down my feelings, everything boils down to him. Sometimes I want nothing more than to sever all contact. But my heart feels so full whenever I see him. His very existence brightens my day. It also brings me so much heartache…I don't know how I can survive it.

As for why I'm writing today. I've wanted to write down several events that happened and led to the astounding revelation that I have many issues.

It started this morning when I awoke alone. Well of course I'd wake alone. I'd left him again, even though he's said time and time again that I should stay. I do not. So why am I surprised when I awake alone, reaching for the warmth of another?

Personally, I think I might be going just a tad bit crazy. They say smart people tend to become senile quicker as they age. The only problem with that theory is that I most certainly am not old. I haven't even reached thirty yet!

And maybe I never will. This morning, after my shower, I reached for the locket I wear around my neck…I can't remove it, even if I tried—even if I wanted to. And it was gone.

You wouldn't be able to understand the panic I went through at that moment. I was sure the world was ending. I couldn't breath, my heart beat erratically and every muscle in my body died. I fell to the floor, trying my best to calm myself. But it was impossible.

And I was all alone. I was going to die, I thought, and I was going to die all alone.

I even passed out—from fear, from the lack of air, from…relief…

I awoke a few minutes later, my locket sitting heavily on my heart, locked securely around my neck.

Where had it gone? Had it even been gone—or had I some sort of hallucination, a panic attack?

I needed to talk. But who could I go to? I didn't call Ron. No, I no longer call Ron. I didn't go to Ginny—we aren't speaking at the moment, not that I'd have gone to her if we were. I didn't go to Harry, which would have been a logical choice, except that...

I'm afraid I'm too far gone for him to see me anymore. I'm afraid that he'd look right through me, looking for the Hermione he knew, and that I'm transparent now. Sometimes I feel like a ghost, as if I've already passed on and haven't realized it yet. So, I didn't go to Harry, out of fear.

I went to him and he understood. He took me in his arms—arms I want so badly to be in, but won't let myself be. He took me in his arms and held me tight, told me everything was going to be okay. We talked for a while before going our separate ways. Sometimes I find it amazing, how well we work together. And how well we ignore each other.

I'm afraid that I do love him, which is why none of this will ever work. I can't handle love. It's not predictable. I can't control it. I can't control him, and he can't control me. We both need that control. We need it like air…I shouldn't speak for him. We are strangers.

Strangers because of our secrets, our lies, or inhibitions…

I think this is enough reminiscing for today. I thought that writing everything down would help me.

But I don't think it does, it will only serve to help someone else.

I am already gone. Perhaps, I should say I've already given up.

The parchment slipped through his fingers and fluttered to the floor. He felt…empty. His eyes drifted to the box. The corner of an envelope stuck out between several rolls. He reached in, sifting through them until he pulled out the envelope.

It was addressed to him. With shaking fingers he sliced the envelope open, removing the letter.

-August 11-

Hello there Harry. If you are reading this then I must be…no longer among the living. I don't know how I'll go and I really don't want to. But, I've left you with my life. In this box, I've left everything that means anything to me. I've explained everything, because I knew that this would happen. Don't think though, that I didn't want you and Ron, to know these things when I was alive. You of all people should understand the inability to communicate feelings that penetrate you to your core. Just please, read these, and know…that I love you and Ron from the bottom of my heart.

Love always,

Hermione

* * *

Lucius Malfoy did not enjoy the incessant knocking at his front door. No, he did not. And where the hell were his staff? It was their job to answer the door—to tell the knocker to leave him alone, to leave the premises, to kill them if necessary. He wanted to be alone.

He was going to take a very nasty curse to whoever was knocking at his door. It was going to be bloody, it was going to be gory, it was going to be painful, and by Merlin he was going to enjoy it.

"What do you want!" He bellowed as he opened the door. His blond hair was less than orderly, his eyes cold, and his face full of an expression many never wished to see.

"Sir…I'm…I'm sorry to disturb you. My name is Ginny Weasley."


	23. Bitter Sweet

**Ugly**

**Bitter Sweet

* * *

**

There is a certain feeling that digs deep inside of you. So far that a simple thought can trigger a stab of pain or longing. You must understand that feeling! It makes the heart race and your hands sweat. You hide as if it were forbidden, pushing it away, deeper inside of you. It is never going to leave. No matter how far you run, or how cruel you are. You can't kill it. This feeling is a parasite and it saturates your very soul with it's hideousness.

You want nothing more than to be free to enjoy it. To bask in it's hidden glory. But you can't. It is frowned upon, forbidden, captured and destroyed. Keep it, under lock and key…

But you want! You want that moment of bliss.

If only for a moment…

One moment where you wouldn't have to hide, you could face the one you love and feel that love in return.

You must know!

The toll forbidden love takes on your body, your mind, your ability to think clearly and see consequences.

Precision is what you need, focus and….a _plan_.

But really, you want it to go away. The sickness you feel in the pit of your stomach isn't worth it…is it?

What would you give to be a block of ice, emotionless, cold, perfect.

Ice stings right at first, when you take that first plunge, it is cold and vicious—but by god, you know that after that…you are numb.

Some people scrape and rip and tear at their skin with blades—everything after is release and a sick sordid pleasure. Again…you are numb.

Some people take to alcohol—a mixture of grain that you were told blocks out this fucking pathetic excuse of a world. But the cruel reality of it is that it leaves you undone and you curse that you are more open than ever before. With each pour from the bottle, each burning swig you take to drown out this feeling, you open yourself to it more.

You are possessed, a madman to down all that burning hell of a liquid. Amber, clear, red, blue, black, you can't be bothered to care. Because you know, _you know, _it has to fucking work sometime! But instead you are left defenseless. Vulnerable. Lonely. Alone. And very drunk.

And some people just simply go crazy.

They scream.

They kick.

They fight.

They cry.

They let those feelings overwhelm them, and in that new reality you have created, you've put yourself on a never-ending merry-go-round of what has gone wrong in your life.

You bought a one-way ticket and boarded. You can't get off.

Draco buried his head, hiding beneath the duvet, screaming into the plush bed. His fingers clutched helplessly at pillow—wishing it were something smooth and warm. Something living.

He gasped feeling the breath-dampened cloth slide against his lips…and he wished it were instead soft and hot and wet.

If anyone could see him now…he gulped, rolling over in his misery, trying to real it all back in. Trying and failing.

Pathetic.

That was what he was. His father…Draco's pale fingers ached, his father would be so disappointed. So disappointed.

He buried his head in a pillow and writhed.

The room was dark. He'd pulled the thick brocade curtains closed before his binge with several friendly bottles. But hadn't stop him from hearing the rain outside. It hit the windows with angry fists, punctuated with bouts of rolling thunder. He'd stripped, not caring if his expensive robes wrinkled, he'd left them where they fell. He'd shut out the world and climbed beneath the covers of his lonely bed.

And there he'd stayed.

He didn't know how long it had been. Half an hour, three hours…he was pretty sure that it hadn't been all night…not yet. But what did it matter? He'd done this to himself.

Sudden urges. They come when one least expects…and are wonderful, blissful. They carry you to a plain of existence that really is all rainbows and sunshine.

Do you want to know what is better than just having a sudden, insane, and oh-so-breathtaking urge?

Acting on it.

Being in love is one of the more confusing and beautiful of emotions in this life. Loving someone is heartache, in every sense.

Draco buried his head deep beneath the pillow, trying to burry himself in the mattress. It didn't work. No matter how much he squirmed and wished.

He'd been so stupid! Damn it! When did he become like this? When had his ability to see life through a sheet of glass ended—when had the glass shattered and left him in this brutal reality?

"Draco?"

Damn the fucking world! Now he was hearing voices. "Leave me alone!" He shouted, his voice muffled by mattress, pillow, and covers.

"Are you okay?"

Well at least the imaginary voice was kind to him, concerned, not like the rest of the world.

"Draco? Are you okay? I'm…I'm sorry for earlier."

Come to think of it, Draco thought, that voice sounded quite familiar. His heart jerked, a painful reminder that he was still alive, still able to feel and still able to have it torn and crushed and stomped upon.

There was a shift in the bed, equilibrium breached. Draco felt his body tilt into that downhill depression. "Go away." He mumbled. Whether it was just a voice he was hearing, or the real thing, he just wanted it to leave. He wanted her to leave.

He wanted her to stay.

He wanted her to die.

He wanted her to live.

He wanted her with him.

He wanted her as far away as was humanly possible.

It all boiled down to one thing.

He wanted her.

She didn't want him.

"Draco, let me see your face."

No, he thought, I'm not going to move, I'm going to stay here until I use up all the oxygen and die.

"Draco!"

He felt the covers being torn from his body and he scrunched his eyes shut.

"Draco, damn it! You are always pushing me! This time, I'm going to fucking push you back!"

He was pretty sure that the voice belonged to the flesh and blood girl who gave him this heartache. What was she saying anyway? More harsh words, more hate? He didn't want to hear it anymore. He didn't want to care anymore.

The pillow was roughly pulled from his grasp and he heard it hit the floor far from the bed.

His eyes remained closed, his face pressed into the mattress. His skin rippled from the cold, no longer protected by coverings. This really was pathetic, but that was what he'd reduced himself to. A pathetic man. He was a failure. Pathetic, dying, failure!

Hands stroked through his hair and he wanted to cry. God, how often had he craved that touch. How often had he dreamt of those hands running through his hair. How often did he ball his body up and try to keep himself warm. He could never find warmth without her. She was his warmth, his sun, his day and night.

And the light had gone out.

She ran from him. She ran hard, never looking back.

She'd run from him, she wasn't here, he was finally submitting to the craze he'd held at bay. It was taking him, taking him brutally.

"Draco." The voice was so soft. "I'm sorry." The hands halted and tightened, but not painfully, gripping his hair.

And then he felt it. Warmth. Her breath ghosted across his neck and then…he had the insane feeling of another body, pressing against his—the weight of another, pressing into his back. Could he really be so far gone he could feel such things? Could the imagination of a broken mind really conjure such a bittersweet dream?

Bare legs straddled his waist and he felt the hem of a shirt skim his bare back. Merlin, this was sick! He was sick! How could he…how could he imagine what he'd never felt, only dreamed.

And then there were lips on his neck, the hands loosening from his hair to glide down his back, to touch his cold and dying skin. Those hands trailed warmth, making him want to arch into it, bring it closer, and embrace what might put even the smallest spark of life back into him. Even if it was only a dream.

"You're not dreaming, Draco."

Of course the voice would persuade him otherwise. But hadn't he decided it was really the woman, and not just a disembodied voice? All he had to do was turn over and open his eyes. Open his eyes to the reality that he was alone and dreaming, finally cracked, bleeding, and dying.

Or open his eyes to the reality that he wasn't alone, but naked in bed with the woman he'd grown to love.

He swallowed hard. He couldn't open his eyes. To break this non-reality would only leave him to cry those body racking sobs that left him exhausted and sore and feeling that death was far less painful.

"I'll prove it to you…" The voice whispered as warm lips trailed down his back, the weight shifting lower and lower. "I'm here. I'm here…and I love you."

Draco stiffened. What did he ever do to deserve this torture, was this petty revenge for the thoughtless life he'd led for near sixteen years? Or was this punishment for the life of lies and deceit and unfulfilled love he'd lived after those sixteen?

But he couldn't take this anymore. It hurt, it hurt too much. He'd rather die than continue this dream, the bathroom was close enough, he could make it, all he needed to do is open his eyes.

And he did.

The black of his bed sheets were all he could see. But he felt, he could feel the movement, the pressure against him.

It was real.

The pressure of that warm body slipped off him and Draco couldn't help the moan of loss that escaped his lips. A moan muffled still by the mattress.

"Turn over."

Draco did.

The light was as non-existent as before, but he could make out the shape above him. The hair hung freely, darker than the rest of the body.

She was resting on her knees. Resting and waiting.

"I…"

He was shushed as the figure leaned over him, a finger on his lips to keep him silent. "_I'm _the one who is sorry…Draco. I'm so sorry." The finger was removed, only to be replaced with those warmth-giving lips.

Draco sighed, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her onto him, closer. Warmth. She moaned, her hands curling against his shoulders, then splaying…feeling his skin, cold and smooth beneath her fingers.

"Don't leave me." She whispered, as they broke apart. "Don't ever leave me."

He knew the words were a true confession of her fears, he knew she knew that, and he knew that he wouldn't ever leave her. She would leave him. Just as it had been all these years. The same thing, over and over…whenever they had gotten close. She'd left.

She was going to leave him.

Leave him with nothing.

Draco felt the pain, this time it came from a deeper place and he pushed her away.

"I'm sorry."

He heard the apology, as he'd heard all the others. But that wasn't what mattered.

"Do you love me?" He asked, asking about the one thing he'd always avoided, that they'd both avoided. So many times he'd been pushed away. They could never get too close. They pushed each other away, so far away. She was going to push him away once more.

He jumped when the warmth embraced him again, tightened to the point of bruising around his body, trapping his arms at his sides.

"Too much." Those lips were back, trailing warmth at the back of his neck. Draco shivered. Affection, possibly, they could show each other affection…but love? She couldn't even say the words when awake, when he was awake. Only when she was lost in the bliss of sleep, or when she thought he was lost in the same.

"I love you."

His eyes squeezed shut, his mouth tightly closed, his body filled with tension. "You'll leave me." He whispered, his voice so low he wasn't sure he'd even uttered the words aloud.

"I never want to leave you."

"But you do." He insisted quietly.

Hermione sighed. "Yes. I do."

"How am I to know this time is different?"

She sighed, and he knew he'd broken her, that she'd leave. But her arms didn't loosen.

"I'm tired of this Draco."

Well, that makes two of us, he thought, if only a bit scathingly.

"I always run, you follow. I come back. I push you away. You wait. You leave me alone. I want you back. You come back. You push me away, and I stay where you left me. Waiting. " She shifted, bringing him closer. "We are not perfect, we never were, never will be. But…we can stop fighting what we did all those years ago. It was supposed to help us, but it has made us fearful to live! We can try…and maybe, maybe…"

"I asked you to marry me."

"And I told you it was impossible."

"I know that." Draco sighed, removing her arms and turning around, he forced her onto her back, laying his body against her own. His thoughts did not pause to marvel at how they fitted together. "But, if we could…would you?" He'd asked her, the first time, on a whim. They had been…joyful, for a moment. A moment in time he'd always treasure. They'd been laughing, the air around them scented by apple blossoms, the grass green, and the sky too blue. Perfect.

"I would." She whispered, her eyes shining with tears. "I'd love nothing more."


	24. Bitter Sweet Part 2

**Ugly**

**Bitter Sweet Part 2

* * *

**

Dreams do come true.

Draco Malfoy rolled over to find that she'd stayed through the night. He propped himself on his elbow and couldn't help but smile at her sleeping form. She was perfect. They were perfect, together.

They would always be.

He would make sure of it.

"Hermione…" He nudged her gently, watching her as sleep left her. Her eyelashes fluttered softly before opening. She stretched, her eyes surveying the room quickly before offering him a nervous smile. He could see the realization hit her.

"Morning." She said, suddenly shy.

Draco grinned. "You stayed."

Hermione laughed, clutching the blanket to her chest as she pulled herself up. "I guess I did."

"I'm glad."

Hermione smiled. "I am, too."

"And…" Draco ran his hand against her arm, warm, soft, real. He swallowed hard. "And last night…you said…"

Hermione's laugh was pure gold, spilling over him, through him, filling him with a liquid heat that didn't burn at all, but settled softly inside him. She reached for him, taking his hands in hers. "Yes, Draco. My answer is yes. Forever and ever."

And with that, Draco knew that no ending could possibly ruin what they had.

* * *

"What do you want," Lucius couldn't bring himself to say Weasley, leaving his statement to speak of his disdain. He'd have his staff wash…or better yet, replace the front door later. "Going door to door now? No doubt begging for measly scraps."

Ginny could glower as well as any Malfoy. "Hardly." She said simply, swallowing her fear at being in the presence of Lucius Malfoy and pushed her way past him.

Perhaps, Lucius thought, it was time to redecorate the foyer. Narcissa would be pleased, she'd been after him for ages about the décor. Not that he cared. "I shant repeat myself."

"Then don't. I'm here because we have something in common."

Lucius was glad he hadn't a drink in his hand or he might of spilled some pricey concoction all over himself. "Something…" His face scrunched up in disgust. "In common? I highly doubt that."

Ginny shook her head, looking him straight in the eyes. "I don't care. The facts remain unchanged. Your son and my friend were together."

Bile rose in his throat, Lucius felt sick. "And who…" His nose wrinkled. "Would be your friend?" If he'd expected an easy answer…if he'd expected anything to come easily, Lucius was sorely disappointed. Facts remained unchanged. He'd taken his son's happiness…

In return, his own would be taken.

But, and this is what Lucius couldn't wrap his head around, hadn't he already lost it?

His son had been taken from him.

His son.

His only child, the once living proof that Lucius existed. His legacy. Without his son, without Draco…

Lucius knew, as had the Madame…he had already paid his price.

Ginny stood before a man whom she and many others had feared. A man who seemed to age in mere seconds, the toll of knowledge erasing any semblance of youth. Lucius Malfoy was an old man. Lucius Malfoy had lost his son. Ginny didn't try to offer comfort. But she was going to show him, show them both, that the ones they lost were happy...

Finally happy.

* * *

He couldn't remember the last time Hermione had smiled so often and openly. Years. They had put themselves under so much pressure, worrying, trying, running, lying. Happiness doesn't come easily, nor does it come without a price. It takes care and love to keep yourself from the hands of despair.

He had a feeling that his presence here, among the taffeta and rhinestones, lace and satin, was highly unorthodox. But he couldn't, wouldn't waste one moment of this. Hermione, happy, laughing, and smiling was worth more than any semblance of macho manliness. She came from the fitting room, looking for him. His heart filled, heavy warmth replacing his blood. He was needed, wanted. What more could he ask for?

"What do you think?"

"I suppose it will do."

She smacked him lightly and he grinned.

"What of the ribbon, here?" She pointed to the trailing ribbon of blue. "And don't pretend you don't have an opinion. I've never met a more fashion conscience male."

"For male clothes. This is a dress…I think."

"Just your opinion, please. We can have the witty banter over dinner."

Draco wrapped his arms around her. "Whatever you want." He kissed the top of her head. "It enhances your beauty." He whispered.

Hermione laughed. "Fine, fine." She turned to the lady waiting on them as she heady back to the changing rooms. "I'll take it."

* * *

Ron stood at Harry's door, waiting for the damn bastard to let him in. Harry had sounded…like Harry in crisis. Ron knocked again. "Harry!"

Harry opened the door, his eyes rimmed red and his hair in disarray.

"You look awful, mate."

"Thanks."

Ron patted Harry on the back and followed him into the living room. The once semi-organized room was a mess. Rolls and rolls of parchment scatted over any available surface.

"What is this?"

Harry smiled. "This is Hermione."

Ron made his way to a pile of rolls, picking one and up and unrolling it. He scanned the page. "Hermione left you her work documents?"

"Yes, those…but it is so much more, Ron! Did you know what she was doing?"

Ron thought about it. He knew Hermione had gotten a job in the Department of Experimental and Progressive Magic. What that entailed was, however, beyond him. It was a department full of the brightest, the most brilliant minds alive. He was sure a few, if not more, were completely insane.

He knew that Professor Snape had worked there after his termination as potions master at Hogwarts. Ron wasn't sure if the man still did. He had very little involvement with that department. For which, he was usually grateful.

"Not really. They are under charm and wizards oath not to say anything about their work outside the division."

Harry nodded, his eyes wide and somewhat erratic. Ron hadn't seen him like this for a long time. Another thing he'd been grateful for.

"Have you eaten recently?"

Harry shrugged.

"How much tea have you consumed?"

Harry grinned. "A lot. I've been up all night and yesterday. Hermione left these for me. They were in a box that she could continually add to from wherever she was. Nifty, really. I wonder when they will be on the public market. She was brilliant, Ron. So brilliant. She did so much…for so many. And what is left?" Harry stopped smiling. "Everyone thinks she took her own life."

Ron patted Harry on the shoulder. "Not anymore."

"What?"

"I had a talk with Dean. There is a retraction in the post this morning, if you care to read it."

"You…you really did that?"

Ron guided Harry to the couch, pushing a few scrolls aside so that there was room for the two of them to sit.

"Harry, I think we need to talk." Ron knew that their trial was far from over, but since the beginning they had focused solely on their loss, their problems, how Hermione's death affected them. Everything negative…they'd looked through eyes clouded by hate and despair. But what mattered most was acknowledging that Hermione had loved them.

And she always would.

* * *

Hello there dear reader,

I have returned with a new, edited and hopefully improved version of Ugly. I hope you enjoy and continue reading. It has been a long time, I left you as a high school senior and return to you a college senior. Time does fly. My passion for writing did get pushed to the side, but some things will fall through the cracks as you age. As I manage my senior project, show, masters application and search for a job I've decided to add finishing Ugly to the list. Shouldn't be hard, as I am wrapping the story up in a few chapters.

As always, I hope you have enjoyed this installment of Ugly. Your comments are welcome!


	25. Apologize

**Ugly**

**Apologize

* * *

**

"Your tardiness is unacceptable, Draco." Lucius leaned forward to grab his glass of liquor. "We were most disappointed.

Draco glanced at his mother, who gave him the tired, sad smile that he'd grown accustomed to. Translation, Lucius was disappointed in Draco. His mother had not been heavily involved in her husbands schemes since her accident last fall. Draco was almost sure that she had stopped caring for them even before that.

It was Lucius who by nature, was a schemer. That was when he was most...well, not happy, but content with the world. He needed it, like most need affection. He needed the control that it brought to his life and without it...

He was most disappointed.

"Do you not have anything to say as to your actions?" Lucius set his glass down, his eyes boring into Draco who met that gaze with a unique fierceness.

Draco thought of the answers he could supply. He thought of what the good son would say, the agreeable son. He thought of the truth, and quickly passed that by. Instead, he settled on simplicity. "No."

Lucius made no outward movement, but the slight tightening of his mouth, the tiny twitch that developed beneath his left eye told all.

Draco's answer was infuriatingly too simple.

"I see." Lucius replied.

"I'm glad we are in agreement, father." Draco tried to keep the mocking to a minimum, especially with his father, but sometimes it escaped. After all, it was his true nature. He'd discovered, slowly, that his talent for mental torment was really a hidden, sarcastic wit. Having acknowledged that, he felt slightly more human. Sarcasm was accepted in society, while psychological torment, while fun, was certainly not.

"Lucius, darling, might we move forward with the conversation. You have news, haven't you? To give to Draco." Narcissa was tired. She wanted nothing more than the meal to be over and to settle into bed with a novel. Her body ached, constantly. No amount of pain-reliever potion could produce even the slightest relief.

She wished for the day that Draco's slow defiance finally broke Lucius of this particular scheme. It was hard, she knew, to give up on the dream—or in Lucius' case, scheme—that you'd had for your child since before their birth. But Lucius was blind to time. Draco had grown into a man, a man far different from the one Lucius saw. Narcissa could see Draco as he was, and she was proud.

He was more than his father could ever hope to be. Draco had somehow cast off the emotional bindings he'd been taught all his life. He had passion for life. For experience. For love.

Narcissa smiled to herself. Her son was most certainly in love. If only she would be around long enough to see him and his love together. With Lucius around, it could be years. Decades.

Narcissa wasn't sure she'd last that long.

* * *

"Hey, you." Draco gently stroked his mother's shoulder. "Do you want me to help you upstairs?" He asked as her eyes fluttered open.

Narcissa nodded, her body rebelling as her son helped her up. "Where is your father?"

"He's gone out."

"I must have dozed off."

"That is quite alright, mother."

Narcissa smiled at him, her eyes bespeaking her pain.

"Have the medi-wizards found nothing to help you?" Draco touched his mother as gently as he could, knowing the pain she was in.

Narcissa shook her head. "Rest assured, Draco. They are trying."

They didn't talk of the accident. They never spoke of it. Lucius was, at heart, the cause of it, making the topic one to avoid.

Draco pulled the covers over her legs and looked at the large collection of books that lined her walls. Her room was practically a library, one he was sure Hermione would enjoy discussing with his mother.

Someday.

"Do you want me to pick one?" He gestured at the shelves.

Narcissa pointed to his left. "One from that shelf would be nice, Draco."

Grinning, Draco went about his task of choosing her reading material.

Narcissa watched Draco. She always watched. It was not until recently that she had begun to wish. And wishing was dangerous. Her delicate state had left her emotionally compromised. Feelings of regret led to depression and depression was as dangerous as the common cold was to the elderly.

"Draco..."

Draco turned around, book in hand. "Is this not acceptable?"

Narcissa closed her eyes. "No, it is perfect."

Draco smiled at her and she knew he was perfect. He was her baby.

"Draco, do you know that I love you?"

Draco set the book on her bedside table. "Yes." He answered and softly took her hand. "You mean the world to me."

The tears were there whether she wanted them or not. "Then, let me say this without interruption." He nodded and she took a deep breath, trying not to tremble. "You have been my pride since the day you came into this world. I have wanted for you to have the best of everything and I have wanted you to be the best. At first, I thought your father's way of things would be acceptable. He is a smart man. He is ambitious. But he doesn't deviate. He doesn't understand change. You, Draco...you make me see how special being yourself is."

"Mother—"

"I'm not done yet. I just...what I want to say, Draco, is that I'm sorry. I'm ever so sorry."

* * *

Hermione was asleep when he came home. The scene eerily reminiscent of his mother, dozing in her chair. Draco stroked her face, her hair and kissed her forehead.

"You're back." Hermione's sleepy whisper made him smile.

"Did you eat?" He asked and she shook her head. "Okay, I'm going to make something, you just stay here."

Like his mother, Hermione was sick. He didn't know what it was, or how to help. But he knew food would nourish the body. That was all he could do right now.

Nikolas meowed at him when he entered the kitchen. "Hey there, little guy." Draco bent down and scooped up the cat. "What is she feeding you, fatso." Nikolas didn't mind the name calling. He purred contentedly in Draco's arms, warming Draco's heart.

Soup and sandwiches later, Draco brought a loaded tray into the living room. Hermione was awake, but hadn't moved from the couch. Nikolas jumped up beside her.

"He hopes you made some for him, too." Hermione murmured, a smile on her face.

"Well, if he behaves..." Draco set the tray down, moved Nikolas, and snuggled up to Hermione. "How did you feel today?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. About the same, I guess." She fingered the locket she wore around her neck.

Draco reached out, placing his hand over hers, over the locket, over her heart. "What does it feel like?"

Hermione's eyes glistened with tears. "Heartache. Unbearable heartache."

* * *

Harry and Ron sat side by side.

"There are things in here that would revolutionize our society." Ron told Harry as he sorted through Hermione's work. "She could have had a more profound impact than even Dumbledoor."

"How could we not have known?" Harry asked.

"Confidentiality, Harry. Hermione couldn't talk about her work, or anything associated or stemming from it."

Harry nodded, it was just so hard to wrap his head around. All those times he'd asked her how her job was going. How many times had she stuttered? Grown skittish and nervous?

He'd thought that that had pointed to her discontent with her job, not wanting to disappoint him and Ron and Ginny whose jobs were both glamorous and prestigious. He'd thought she wasn't living up to her potential. Settling.

He'd assumed things.

She'd exceeded her potential. She had worked hard for what she believed in. A better world. An understanding world.

"This one is interesting." Ron handed Harry a scroll. "Most of what Hermione researched and theorized on was social. This here, all of these, actually, are medical, potions and herbal compounds."

Harry looked at the scrolls. "You're right. It looks more like dark arts research. Which is unlike the rest of her work." He looked at the date at the top. "She only started the research four months ago."

"Harry..."

"What?" Harry looked at Ron.

"Turn it over." Harry did. "More notes, what do you want me to look at?"

"The initials, there." Ron pointed to it and Harry groaned. Written in a handwriting he would never forget, a handwriting that haunted his dreams. It was an editorial note, signed with initials. The initials S.S.

Ron and Harry stared at each other.

"Severus Snape."


	26. Memories

**Ugly**

**Memories

* * *

**

Ginny wasn't sure now.

Once, she had believed her life to be, if not perfect, on the way to perfection.

Her job was excellent. She had a corner office, windows, a swivel-chair and the authority she had always dreamed of.

Her friends were of high-standing, impeccable dress and always in attendance of the latest and greatest clubs.

She wasn't the poor girl she had once been.

Life was good.

Was.

The last few months had forced an assessment of her life. And what she found was...

Her job was meaningless.

Her authority meaningless.

Her friends shallow.

The clubs they frequented meaningless.

Life...her life...was, without doubt, a waste.

And it had been what she wanted. What she strived for. It was after her brother's graduation and her failure to lure Harry that she had set upon this path and never looked back.

They had all changed, setting out into the world.

Graduation was a time of change.

A time of choosing what remained and what was to be let go.

* * *

"Harry!"

"Hey, Ginny." Harry gave her a light hug as he made his way through Ron's family, all of whom had come to support his and Ron's graduation. It was a day that many had never thought this particular class would see.

"I am so excited for you, Harry."

"Thanks, Gin."

Ginny clung to his arm, her smile wide and eyes sparkling. "Will you be taking the Auror exam this summer? Well, of course, they would be remiss to say no to you...but tradition and all."

Harry tried to shake himself free. "Um, actually...I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Oh!" It was surprise that loosened her grip. "But...your...I..." Ginny was stumped. She couldn't rightly tell him she'd seen his private recommendations. That she had snuck into his belongings at the library when he and Ron and Hermione had gone off to some section or another.

It was presented to every seventh year, a cumulative list of their personal strengths and professor recommended professions. Ginny couldn't wait for hers. She was sure to surpass what Ron had received. Money was going to change everything.

She smiled and moved back as Ron and Hermione crowded Harry. Really, when were those two going to freaking go out already?

Hermione smiled happily for the cameras. Moving pictures were still a novelty to her and she supposed, they were for Harry too, as they shared one of those looks.

Fulfilling her picture obligations, Hermione turned and surprised Ginny from behind. A hug full of exuberant that had Ginny swaying.

"Oh, Ginny. The places we shall go. The sights we shall see!"

"Get off." Ginny pushed away, turning to see her friend. "You wrinkled my robes." She tugged lightly at the fabric.

Hermione rolled her eyes, her smile never dulling. "Don't you realize..."

Ginny waited for Hermione to finish, waiting as Hermione's eyes went hazy, distant, thoughtful maybe...but there was something else. Whatever.

"Realize what?"

Hermione didn't look at Ginny, but Ginny was no longer looking at Hermione. Harry was behind her, hugging girls. So many girls.

"We get to start our lives now." Hermione whispered. "We get to live."

Ginny nodded and made some sort of affirmation. But she wasn't listening.

She never really listened.

* * *

Ginny hated this lane of memories from which she could not escape. She had let the girl she was die. It was hard to come to terms with the person she had become. Selfish, uncaring, materialistic. Money, fame, authority...she had thought those would bring her happiness.

And in return she had sacrificed friends, integrity and Merlin only knew what else.

But perhaps, redemption could always be found.

She knew it could.

Hermione believed it. So very strongly, Ginny knew that now. Hermione had known that wrongs could be righted and that nothing was final until death.

And even then...

Ginny made a decision. It was a decision long in coming. A decision that had stuck in her throat for so very long, that made her shake and shiver and feel so very sick.

She made a promise, for herself, for her friends, for the future.

* * *

"Lucius?"

Lucius cursed silently as his wife's voice echoed from her upstairs quarters.

"A moment!" he yelled back, turning to face the ginger-haired woman. "We have nothing more to discuss. I have heard your ridiculous comments."

He moved to the close the door, but Ginny couldn't let this opportunity go and shoved what she could of her body into the closing doorway.

"Sir, I don't think you understand."

"I understand perfectly." Lucius replied, shoving harder against the door.

Ginny had to stop herself from crying out as the door crushed against her. Gritting her teeth, she stared at the man whose inability to see clearly—to look beyond himself, a man with whom she shared too many personality traits—had caused so much hurt.

Staring at him, both unrepentant she asked the singular question.

"How is your wife, Lucius?"

* * *

Severus Snape was a private man. He valued nothing more. There was a power to solidarity that filled him with all the comfort he needed.

With a fine crystal glass of amber liquid in one hand and a heavy tome in the other he relaxed into his favorite chair. He'd had a long day filling the few purchase orders for potions that he allowed. His bones ached now, more than they'd ever had. His back cracked and it was nearly impossible to stand up striaght and tall as he once had. The years, had not been kind to him. Yet, he had to admit, he himself had not been kind to this poor vessel of a body.

The curse, Severus thought, of living was the having to grow old. To decay while still trapped inside flesh. He almost envied those whose lives had been cut short, thus allowing them to escape the cruel degeneration. He flipped the book to the passage he'd last read and settled deeper into the comfort of his chair.

CRACK

The glass tumbled from his shock-slackened hand and an undignified yelp escaped his cracked lips.

"What the—Weasley!"

Severus' heart pounded hard and fast. Old muscles contracted out of habit, and hurt all the more for it. What man deserved such torment, thought Severus, not referring to the aches and pain he'd grown accustomed to.

The heads of Weasley and Potter floated in his fireplace. And that was more torment, than his aged body.

"Professor—I"

"No!" Severus managed to set his book on the table as he struggled to his feet. Old knees creaked and shook as he waved his hand in a useless gesture to banish the floating heads. "No. Get out." He grabbed a pitcher of water set near the fireplace for just such occasions and doused the dying embers.

That was all it took for the faces of Weasley and Potter to disperse in the resulting, sizzling steam.

He sighed. Not with relief. He knew...he'd known this would happen. That, even the most dim-whitted would eventually sniff him out. If only he had...

But Severus did not finish that thought, as he had not finished the million before it. Instead, with a flick of his wand he returned his broken glass to it's former state and filled it once more. He sat in his chair and picked up his book, opening it to the place he'd left off at.

With the likes of Potter and Weasley, he would just wait. No matter his protests, no matter his inability to do anything to help...they would be back, in the flesh.

He would just wait for the inevitable. And hope that his end was as near.

* * *

Hermione was sitting beside the shore, the tide lapping at her toes. Beside her, Draco could see the book and sunscreen she had packed. The water she had most likely ordered from a porter, and the ring held between her fingers.

She wasn't looking at it, as she once had, with the wonder of someone who had finally found out she belonged, that she had a place, a purpose in this universe.

"What are you thinking?" Draco asked as he sat beside her, already working at the laces of his shoes.

Hermione leaned against him. "That's the marvelous thing, actually. I don't think here."

Draco smiled and removed his shoes, rolling up his trouser legs he let the water lap at his toes.

"That must be a first." He teased.

"Yes..." she murmured. "It really is."

They stayed for a week. Just a week, and it was the happiest time that Draco could remember having. And when, a few months later he found his time consumed by hospital visits and Hermione by her work. When his world was once more falling apart and thinking was so often and so much that he could hardly lift his head up in the morning, he remembered that week. That beach, and the water lapping at his feet.

He told his mother about that week, as she lay in a coma. He told her everything.


	27. Understanding

**Ugly**

**Understanding**

**Part One**

* * *

Hermione lifted the quill and set it down once more. How could she write what needed to be said? How could she say what she herself could not understand. There were so many lies, so many missed moments and memories hidden that she honestly couldn't remember where this all started. Where had this all begun? And how was she supposed to leave the story, the facts behind when it was all so embroiled in emotion?

Hermione shook her head and pushed paper and quill away. Her chair screeched as she pushed back from her desk. Eyes drifting down she saw the marks on the floor, engraved as they were in hardened wood. How many times had she sat, started and failed to finish this seemingly inane task? Even though she couldn't remember, the floor told the truth. And she couldn't bare it.

"Draco?" Hermione shut the door to her office and went in search of her...well, she never knew what to call him. Husband? Sure she had the ring on her finger and the dress in her closet, but the lie was repeated so often that it was becoming more truth than the truth. Hermione wasn't sure that mattered anymore either.

She found him in the kitchen, his hair tied back as he tried his hand at the ancient potions recipe she had found and translated.

They should have found a true potions lab for the work, Hermione knew. But no one would rent out such a place if they knew the volatile nature of their work. So, instead, a kitchen had become a laboratory and it smelled of ruined appliances. If there were such a smell. Hermione's nose wrinkled at the acrid stench as she leaned against the doorjamb. "Need a break?" She asked as Draco turned to look at her. His face was lined, aged, the glamor they both used for the outside world removed in their home. They were too young, Hermione knew, to be so burdened. The body knew, and aged them accordingly.

"Yes." Was his simple answer as he extinguished the fire beneath the cauldrons and banished the contents.

* * *

Draco removed the dragon-hide gloves and set his wand aside. "I could use much more than a break." He murmured as he took Hermione's hand and they left the ruined kitchen.

"Do you promise to be true to death, to embrace finality and leave behind your health and energy and the magic inside you to be possessed by another?"

"I promise myself to death."

"Do you relinquish your right to life?"

"I bind myself to another."

"And when another's end is met you and yours shall sacrifice your own." The magic swirled from the wand point as it pulled will from them both and bound it to another, the connection sizzled and cracked as the locket was closed.

Severus twitched as the whisper of words surfaced in his memories. His head ached. Lifting his wand he performed a simple charm to alleviate the pressure of his past. There was nothing more he could do and it wouldn't last long. He had a potion to finish and the fumes were getting to him. Sitting, Severus let out a sigh and wondered how easily he could take his own life. It was simple really. Any number of the elements in jars behind him would do the job. Easily. But then, he had always been a fighter. He fought for life, his life, and he would never...never have been able to give it up for another. No matter what.

He stood, grabbing the spoon and ladled the potion into a vial. Taking a small pinch of diamond dust he sprinkled it into the vial and swirled, watching the resulting change in chemistry with a smile on his face. And just that easily, he knew that everything would be okay. Death was coming, that he knew. But for now, it wasn't coming for him. His smile cracked wider, a small drop of blood forming at the corner of his mouth. Death was coming for someone.

Severus dumped the contents back into the cauldron and stirred. Setting the fire on low he left his lab and slowly climbed the stairs. He had visitors.

* * *

Lucius was not happy. But he never was. His wife was serving the red-head and he wasn't sure how this had come to be. The table, the jam, the tea.

"Would you like another biscuit?"

Ginny shook her head and set her cup down. Mrs. Malfoy took one for herself and leaned back in her chair.

"I'm sorry for Lucius' rudeness. He has never had proper manners."

Lucius stared blankly at his wife. Who was this woman?

Ginny looked between the two, her mind full of confusion. This was not what she had expected. Not who she had expected and as she glanced at the formidable man, now cowed in his chair. She knew that nothing was right.

* * *

Draco winced as a rose thorn took it's vengeance on his finger. "Fuck!" he yelled, pulling away.

"Your language is atrocious."

He jumped dropping the flower, "I'm sorry, mother. I did not know you were out here."

"It is too pleasant a day to be inside. Don't you agree?"

Draco nodded and bent to pick the offending rose from the ground. "I was just getting some fresh air, before this thing bit me."

Narcissa took the flower. "Why are you picking my roses?" She brought it to her nose and inhaled.

"I saw a bug on it." Draco replied lamely, cursing himself for having been caught.

"You've never much taken an interest in my flowers." She smiled at her son, knowing that a boy only picked flowers for a singular reason. "Are you all packed for school?"

"Yes, I had an elf pull everything together last night."

"And did you check to make sure we bought everything you need? The list was much longer this year."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course. I have more classes this year."

"Are you looking forward to going back?" Narcissa watched her son's face carefully. He was an accomplished liar. But a mother knew her son and she watched the flit of emotions run behind the reserved mask. He was scared, excited, nervous...all signs that made her want to smile when he nodded instead of providing an answer. Instead, she held the rose out to him. "Please don't pick any more of my roses."

Draco took the rose, his heart pounding as he walked away.

* * *

Hermione and Draco lay on the couch, the cat between them as the three napped. The snow outside fell softly, coming too early this year. It danced and swirled around still leaved trees to settle, white on mottled yellow. Hermione was the first to wake as the kitten kneaded her tummy. She was glad they had declawed the feisty little thing, but grinned nonetheless as she ran her hand over the soft ears. The responding purr brought a soft smile to her face as her gaze left the ball of fur to settle on Draco.

He looked so peaceful when asleep. Lightly, she trailed her fingers over his face, tracing the contours slowly. It still amazed her that they had somehow ended up here. Where they belonged. It felt so right that she couldn't always figure out how it had happened. How had this simply become? But it hadn't. So many twists and turns, fights and screaming, slamming doors and bone deep crying. Had led them right here. And it was moments like this that kept her heart from the near constant despair she knew he suffered with as well.

Her eyes swept the small living room, catching site of the rose on the mantle. It reminded her so much of the Disney film she'd seen as a kid as it rose, suspended above the mantle's ledge by magic in the same, perfect condition it had been nearly a decade ago. It was a promise, a confession, and the hope that she had always needed. A symbol that she sometimes forgot and when she remembered...the world didn't seem so sad after all.


End file.
